


A Need for Breathing

by Phyona



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Cockblock Sam, Eventual Smut, Fever, First Time, Fluff, Human Castiel, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Protective Dean Winchester, Rimming, Sam Ships It, Sam and Cas are buddies, Sick Castiel, Sickfic, Virgin Castiel, Witty Banter, but switching implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:24:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phyona/pseuds/Phyona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean and Castiel reunite at the bunker, Cas has a nasty case of pneumonia and Dean takes care of him.</p><p>(Slight AU set early season 9 in which "Ezekiel" healed Sam without possessing him)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this because I have pneumonia, bronchitis, and flared-up asthma, and I thought to myself "hey, if my life sucks this much balls, Cas's can too." (Sidenote: Cas may also suck literal balls in this fic)
> 
> Since I have zero desire to offer my predictions for season 9 via fanfic, I've decided to make Sam happily healed and un-possessed in this story. This won't affect the fic too greatly because all I'm trying to do is put Dean and Cas in a situation where Cas is slightly stoned, Dean is all grouchy and protective, and bed-sharing is required. Sorry not sorry.
> 
> I love you like Cas loves bees and ground beef.

"Dean?"

The rasp of Cas's voice crackling through his cell phone is enough to punch a sigh out of Dean and drain the tension from his shoulders. It's an old, familiar tension, one he carries whenever Cas is gone and Dean doesn't know where he went.

"Cas, Jesus, where the hell have you been? You were supposed to check in with me. Where are you?"

"I…I'm close to the bunker now, I think, but I'm afraid I'm not feeling so well."

Dean freezes where he's pacing a hole in the floor of his bedroom, immediately clicking over into emergency mode. Now that he looks for it, he can hear exhaustion and grit in Cas's voice. He should have known it was stupid to leave Cas to find his own way to the bunker now that he's human, but it wasn't like he could leave Sammy alone in his condition. Yet more guilt to crap on the shit-show that is Dean Winchester's psyche.

"Damnit, Cas, what happened? Did you get attacked? Who did it? Why didn't you call me? Where are you, I'm coming there right now." Dean bursts out of his room, grabbing his jacket from where it was slung over the back of a chair and stomping his way to the garage.

"You ask a lot of questions," Cas replies. He sounds strange, unfocused.

"Right, whatever," Dean mumbles as he wrenches open the door to the impala, barreling in and tossing his jacket onto the passenger seat. He jams the key into the ignition less gingerly than he normally would, but he's humming with nervous energy and it's setting his teeth on edge. "Just tell me where you are."

"Phone booth. On…um…Pine Street. I'm in Lebanon."

"Alright, good, I'll be there in a minute." Dean hits the button to open the garage door. Once it's up, he braces the phone between his cheek and shoulder while backing out of the tunnel. "Just hang tight there."

"Good, that's good. Though I…I'm worried I—I won't—"

"Shit, man, you sound terrible. And that's saying something for someone who talks like they've been gargling shards of glass on the best of days."

"Dean—I—"

With a thud the line goes dead.

"Cas? Cas!"

Dean growls and chucks his phone onto the jacket.

"Fuck."

It's dark, pouring rain, and the roads are slick but he guns the engine, pealing out of the driveway and fishtailing.

By the time he hits Pine St, he's leaning forward in his seat to see anything through the windshield, despite how the wipers are going full blast. It's not long before he catches sight of the only possible phone booth Cas could've been referring to. He pulls up to it, stumbling out into the cold rain without bothering to grab his jacket.

Castiel is in the booth, slumped up against the foggy plexiglas.

"Cas! Damnit, come on," Dean snarls as he wrenches open the booth's doors and clutches Cas's shoulders. He shakes him. "Cas, wake up!"

Slowly, Cas's eyes blink open. They're glassy and distant.

"Hello, Dean," he says. Dean snorts a slightly hysterical laugh at the familiar greeting. Relief washes over him like the rain that's seeping through his clothes.

"Can you stand?"

"I'm not sure."

"Well, let's find out."

Dean takes hold of Cas by the armpits and, with a grunt, heaves him to his feet. Cas sways back and forth, but Dean locks an arm around his torso before he can fall. He still pitches forward, tucking his forehead into the bend of Dean's neck. It's only then that Dean realizes that Cas is not only drenched but shivering violently. His breath is hot where it puffs against Dean's throat, and Dean can both hear and feel the way it rattles in his chest.

"Fuck, what happened to you?"

"I'm not sure. I was ill and then it…got worse."

"Christ. I need you to walk, okay? We gotta' get you somewhere dry."

Cas nods his assent into Dean's shoulder, but when Dean tries to guide them towards the car he all but collapses, Dean just barely managing to keep him upright.

"Shit," Dean snaps, wiping rainwater out of his eyes. "Onto option two."

With a rallying breath, he reaches down and gets an arm around the back of Castiel's knees, lifting him up into a bridal carry and cursing the twinge in his back that mid-thirties have graced him with. The fallen angel's arms wind around Dean's neck and he snuffles blearily at the spot behind Dean's ear. Dean can feel himself blushing.

Since he left the door open in his haste to get to Cas, Dean rounds the car and sets him on the driver's seat. He pushes him across the bench until there's enough room to get in beside him. With the door shut and rain pummeling the outside of the impala rather than their bodies, Cas leans against his side, head pillowed by Dean's shoulder.

"Move over, dude. I can't drive like this."

Cas doesn't seem to hear him.

Sighing, Dean rids his face of droplets again before he guides Cas into leaning against the passenger door. Though he groans at being manhandled, Cas curls up with Dean's jacket. He seems to pass out again because his breath evens out and his eyes close.

"Idiot," Dean mutters to himself, though he can't decide which of them he's referring to.

On the way back to the bunker he calls Sammy to let him know why he left without saying anything, and to warn him that he's bringing home a pile of sick ex-angel. Sam has been doing remarkably well since Ezekiel healed him up, so it figures that when one of the people he cares about most in the world is okay, the other goes spectacularly to shit.

Sam's waiting in the garage for him when he pulls in, and he rushes over to the passenger door when he catches sight of Cas with his face smooshed against the window. Cas nearly falls to the floor when Sam opens the door, but luckily his moose of a brother catches him before he has a nice concussion to go with whatever plague he's managed to catch.

"Sam," Cas rattles out into the fabric on Sam's chest. Dean feels a twinge of jealousy that apparently Cas's propensity to nuzzle when sick isn't reserved for him. He tamps that down pretty quickly, though, for the sake of getting his best friend taken care of.

"I wanna get him out of those clothes," he says to Sam as he rounds the car.

"At least you're finally willing to admit that."

Dean wants to slap the smirk right off his face.

"But yes, I agree. And also into a bed. Hey, that's another thing you—"

Dean cuts off his infernal brother before he can entertain himself any further.

"Right, right, you're hilarious and clever and you shit glitter wherever you go.  Now shut up and give me the angel."

With a little less care than is probably wise, Dean peels Cas from Sam's chest and picks him up again. Sam's eyebrows arch up his forehead, but he astutely keeps his mouth shut and holds open the door to the bunker.

"Where are we gonna' put him?" Sam asks as they make their way through the large control room. "Your bed and mine are the only ones we have made right now."

"Mine, then. I want to keep an eye on him tonight anyway. I think he has pneumonia," Dean grinds out, voice strained by the weight in his arms. Cas just snuggles against his collar like a cat.

"I think we have antibiotics. I'll go check while you get him settled," Sam says before bounding off down the hall towards the bathroom. The Winchesters always keep a stock of prescriptions on hand in case of emergencies so they can avoid hospitals and doctor's offices whenever possible. Charlie had assisted in making their drug collection quite impressive by hacking into a Target's pharmacy computers and fudging prescriptions. At the moment Dean is extremely grateful for it, seeing as Castiel doesn't have a last name and certainly lacks health insurance. Better to avoid obnoxious questions from medical staff whenever possible.

When Dean finally sets him down on his bed,  Cas sighs at finally being horizontal. Mucus shudders in his chest.

"Very comfortable," Cas mutters, his blue eyes half-lidded.

"It's memory foam," Dean announces, proud. "It remembers y—"

He's cut-off by Cas going into a nasty coughing fit, his whole body convulsing. The cough is gross, a combination of a bark and wet, gurgling sound. It worries Dean, but he isn't sure what to do beyond rubbing Cas's damp chest through it.

"That sounds great," Dean drawls once Cas has settled down. He's grimacing in pain and touching his chest. "You're shivering pretty bad, buddy. We need to get you into some warm clothes."

"Alright."

Though Dean starts with the innocuous task of removing Cas's soggy shoes, he can already feel a blush pinking the tips of his ears. He's never felt so bashful removing Sammy's clothes the few times it's been required during emergencies or benders, and he doesn't want to dwell on why undressing Cas is a totally different ballgame.

Cas has managed to shrug off his jacket and zip-up hoodie by the time Dean's tossed his shoes and socks towards the door. He's winded from the effort, as though he's just run a marathon rather than stripped.

"Do you…uh…want me to help with…your—" Dean stutters, gesturing twitchily to Cas's fly. Cas looks at him, eyes curious and glistening with fever, but just as his lips part to reply, Dean is saved by his buffalo of a brother barging into the room.

"Alright I've got an inhaler, some…uh…'Lev-o-flax-in,' which is an antibiotic, and Tylenol with codeine to knock out that fever and _you_ for the next few hours."

Cas blinks a few times.

"Congratulations, Cas. You're about to enjoy the wonder of controlled opiates for the first time," Dean remarks before going to his dresser.

"Thank you," Cas says behind him. Dean shakes his head as he picks a t-shirt and his softest pair of flannel pajama pants from his drawer.

Apparently being human has not graced Cas with modesty, because when Dean turns around he finds himself confronted with the sight of him struggling to shuck off his wet jeans from where they're tangled on his ankles. Dean's face instantly burns hot.

"You want some help with that?" Sammy offers, not sounding the least bit affected. Dean bristles and he's not sure why.

"You get him set with the meds, Sasquatch. I've got his clothes right here."

Sam shoots Dean a knowing look, but does as he's told. He puts the pill bottles and inhaler down on the bedside table, handing Cas the glass of water he brought in with him.

"You've gotta' take one of these a day until they run out," Sam instructs as he hands Cas the antibiotic. Dean wrestles with getting the jeans off Cas's feet, trying to make his touch as platonic as possible. "Does your chest hurt?"

Both Cas and Dean nod. Dean heard what that cough sounds like. The man needs some damn codeine. Cas takes off his wet shirt, as though showing Sam his bare chest will demonstrate his pain.

"Then take one of these every eight hours unless it starts to really hurt, then ask me or Dean and we'll let you know if you can take another one. Don't take any more unless we tell you to though, okay?"

"Yes, Sam."

Dean takes Cas's wet jeans, shirt, hoodie, and jacket, and hangs them by the door while Sam teaches Cas how to swallow pills.

"That's good," Sam praises once Cas has them down. "If you're having real trouble breathing just ask Dean and he'll show you how to use the inhaler."

"Thank you, Sam." Cas offers Sam a loopy smile, sinking further into the bed.

"Are your…are your drawers wet?" Dean asks as casually as he can manage, though the words end up coming out crotchety and bizarre just to spite him. Cas cants his head.

"He means your boxers. Are they wet too? Do you need to borrow boxers?" Sam seems to be translating since Dean apparently can't discuss another dude's underwear without sounding like a crazy person. To be fair, Cas is wearing _white_ boxers, for fuck's sake. Dean's grateful they aren't wet enough to be transparent.  

"Oh, um…yes."

"Okay. Dean will help take them off for you. I'm going to bed." Sam shoots Dean a shit-eating grin and saunters out of the room like he's the king of the goddamn universe. "Feel better, Cas!" he shouts from the hall.

"If I committed fratricide no one would blame me," Dean mutters.

"What did Sam mean? I don't need help taking these off—" Cas explains, and by way of demonstration pushes his boxers right down his legs and kicks them to the side.

Dean's brain shorts out for a few seconds.

When it finally comes back online it's as though his mind moves extremely fast to make up for the time it's lost. He tosses the t-shirt and pants right at Castiel's head, striding across the room in a millisecond to yank a pair of boxers from his drawer. He chucks those at him as well.

"Jesus fuck, Cas, you can't go around flashing everyone just because you're sick. I don't know what sort of weird shit you angels got up to in heaven but on Earth we call that crap a misdemeanor."

"But you're the only one here."

"Exactly!" Dean's breath is coming in short pulls and he knows his face is tomato red.

"I don't understand. Is my body not…is there something wrong with it?"

"What? No!"

"But you said—"

"I just…no, that's not it, okay? Take my word for it. But will you please just put on the damn boxers before I have a stroke?!"

That seems to get Cas moving, and though his body is sluggish and uncooperative under the fever, he manages to dress himself while Dean glares daggers at the ceiling.

"Get under the covers, okay?" Dean says, attempting to make his voice less shrill. He tries to forget the image of his best friend, dick out, sprawled on his bed like he belonged there. Or the fact that _his_ boxers are now very intimate with Cas's junk. He figures Cas's failing health is the best distraction.

Dean guides his friend under the sheets and blankets, tucking them over his shoulder when he settles on his side. Sitting on the bed near Cas's stomach, Dean flattens his palm across Cas's forehead to check his temperature.

"You're burning up."

"I feel very strange."

"I'll bet. You wanna' tell me how you got this bad and why you didn't think to call me sooner?" Dean levels him with a chiding stare.

"You were worried about Sam. He's your priority and I didn't want to bother you."

Dean resists the urge to flick Cas on the nose.

"That is stupidest thing anyone has ever said…ever."

"I highly doubt that."

Dean ignores him.

"You listen to me and you listen good: if you ever need me, really need me, I'm there, okay? No matter what. You call me right away and I got you. The only thing that 'bothers' me is when my best friend gets his stupid ass a cold and lets it turn into pneumonia because he doesn't think to call me and ask for help."

"I like when you say that."

Dean starts to reply but pauses when he takes in Cas's expression. He looks wistful and strangely calm, which is hardly the reaction Dean was going for with his mini-speech.

"When I say what?"

"'Best friend.' Such an interesting way of putting that. 'Best.' I hardly think I'm the best of friends, considering all of the mistakes I've made, but I suppose I am _your_ best friend since you don't have terribly many. Still, I like that. 'Best friend.' You're my best friend, too."

Dean narrows his eyes.

"Cas, are you stoned?"

"It would seem so, yes. All of the sudden the world seems to have slowed down and I have a tingling sensation in my limbs."

Dean is suddenly reminded of the Castiel in his Zachariah-induced vision; the pill-popping hippy with an affinity for orgies. Though that Cas was very different than the groggy, sickly one before him, he still vows to hide the pills from him once the pneumonia clears up. He likes his Cas the way he is, thank you very much. And if the idea of Cas bumping uglies with a bunch of chicks makes his skin crawl, that's his issue to repress in private.

"Oh, that feels very nice," Cas coos. The way his chest rumbles almost sounds like he's purring. Somehow Dean's hand started carding through Cas's damp, messy hair without his knowledge. Cas seems to be enjoying it though, so he can't bring himself to stop.

"I need you to drink a lot of fluids, okay? And just stay in bed. I'm gonna' sleep on the couch tonight and keep an eye on you." Dean gestures to the green loveseat he'd recently dragged into his room to make it even homier. It won't be the first time he's slept on a couch way too small for his body, so he'll manage.

"But this is _your_ bed," Cas says, quiet, his eyes closed from Dean's ministrations on his scalp.

"You can borrow it." The corner of his lips curls into a smile.

"There's enough room to share," Cas mumbles. Dean's hand stills on Cas's head, his eyes bulging. "And I'm cold," he adds, pulling the blankets tighter.

"Not a good idea, Cas. Would be weird."

"Weird? Why?"

"I shouldn't have to explain that to you."

"Oh…my apologies." Cas seems to curl in on himself, drawing his head away from Dean's hand, his brow furrowed. Dean's doesn't like it.

"No, don't apologize just…I'll be right there if you need me. And I'll get you another blanket if you're cold. You probably have the chills." In an effort to mask how flustered Cas made him with his bed-sharing request, Dean goes back to raking his fingers through Cas's hair, making it even more hectic.

"I hate being human," Cas slurs after a few moments. He sounds half-conscious.

"Welcome to the club."

After lulling Cas to sleep with a few more rounds of scalp-scratches, Dean gets up and retrieves him another blanket. He tucks Cas in well, vaguely reminded of doing the same for Sammy when he got sick in their childhood. A part of Dean revels in being able to care for someone like this again, and he's damn good at it, if he says so himself. It makes him feel useful.

With the light off for Cas there's not much Dean can do to entertain himself as he lounges on the loveseat. He's not exactly comfortable, but he did change into sleep clothes once he was certain Cas was out cold. Though he's buzzing with lingering nerves and a strong desire to protect, he manages to fall asleep eventually. Still, the troubling sound of Cas's labored breathing keeps his body tense and vigilant.

A few hours later, the rasping moan of the words "please, stop" snaps Dean back into waking and he's on his feet before he's fully aware of what's happening. Cas is twitching and squirming on the bed, painful groans gurgling from his throat. "Please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Cas?" Dean asks, frantic. He sits on the bed and grabs Cas's shoulder. "Cas, wake up."

"Dean, I'm sorry. Please."

"I'm right here, man. Come on, wake up." He jostles Cas with the hand on his shoulder, using his other palm to feel Cas's forehead. The skin is clammy and hot.

Finally, Cas's eyelids part, his eyes finding Dean's in the low light. For a moment, Dean catches such sadness and hopelessness in the gaze that it steals the breath from him and lodges a lump in his throat. But before he can latch onto it and start processing, Cas goes into a vicious coughing fit. Dean holds onto him as he battles for breath, desperately trying to clear his airways of the sludge clogging them.

"Fuck, maybe I should just take you to the hospital."

"No, don't!" Cas pleads on a gasp. "Please, don't. I don't want to, I—"

"Okay, okay, calm down. Just breathe, buddy."

With Dean's palm moving in tender slides up and down Cas's chest, the ex-angel finally manages to calm down. Cas curls his palm around Dean's wrist, holding it against his solar plexus after a moment. He carefully clears his throat.

"That was very unpleasant."

Dean snorts.

"Really? Because it looked like a hell of a party from where I'm sitting."

"You're hilarious," Cas deadpans. It's an especially good deadpan since his voice is utterly wrecked.

"Aw jeez, Cas. You really know how to make a guy blush."

"I know a great many things, but I'm quite certain that is not one of them."

"Well, you know how to make _me_ blush and that's all that matters."

Cas tilts his head, eyes appraising.

Dean wishes he could snatch up the words with a net and stuff them back down his throat.

"So, uh, you had a pretty bad nightmare," Dean remarks, brilliant evasion skills at work. Cas immediately lets go of whatever he was contemplating, his expression closing off and going cold.

"Since I… _fell_ , I have many of them."

"That's right, you wouldn't have dreamed as an angel, would you? What are they about? You said my name a couple times, you know."

Cas's eyes bug out like Dean's just caught him stealing his pie. As soon as the look of abject panic spreads across Cas's face, however, he reels it in and closes off once more.

"I'd rather not talk about it, thank you."

"Whatever, man, it's cool. Fuck knows I have plenty of dreams I'd rather saw off my foot than chat about." Dean shrugs and ruffles Cas's hair to shake the frown from his brow. "Why don't you take another codeine? It'll help you sleep. And I think it'd be a good idea if I teach you how to use the inhaler."

Cas nods, propping himself up on his elbow. Dean pops open the bottle of codeine and shakes one onto his fingers. "Open up," he orders, offering a smile. Cas's lips part and he eyes Dean, suspicious. Popping the pill into his mouth, Dean holds the glass of water to his lips for him to drink. He recognizes that his behavior is stupidly intimate, but he figures it's fine after the near heart attack Cas gave him with that coughing fit.

"Good?"

"Yes."

"Alright, then let's teach you how to take this inhaler." He grabs it from the nightstand and pulls it from the box, removing the cap from the mouthpiece. Without much warning he pushes the mouthpiece between Cas's lips. Cas blinks a few times but doesn't spit it out. "Now, when I tell you to, you're gonna' take a deep breath and I'll push the button. The medicine is gonna' puff into your mouth and you need to suck it into your lungs, okay?"

Cas gives a small nod.

"Okay. Ready? Go."

Cas is a natural when it comes to following instructions, so Dean isn't surprised when he takes the medicine perfectly. And if the way Cas's plump lips wrap around the inhaler sends a warm tingle down Dean's spine, well that's no one's business but his.

"I feel lightheaded," Cas breathes when he exhales, collapsing down onto his pillow.

"Yeah, that tends to happen. Does it feel better though?"

Cas drags in a slow, deep breath.

"I think so."

"Good. We'll give you another dose if you wake up again. Think you can get back to sleep now?"

"I'm not terribly optimistic." 

"What do you need?"

When Cas looks up at Dean, puppy dog eyes blazing in full force, Dean thinks he'd do just about anything Cas asked, even if it meant tap-dancing in women's panties or kicking himself in the junk. Cas licks his lips before speaking and Dean tracks the movement.

"Would you…please, if you don't mind, stay in the bed with me?"

Anything except that.

"Why?"

"I'd appreciate the body heat," Cas explains rationally. "And…and your presence is soothing."

"You'd still have my presence if I'm on the couch."

"It's not the same."

"Sorry, Cas, but no."  Dean swears he sees a flicker of something like hurt in Cas's expression, but then the ex-angel just looks irritated.

"Fine," he snaps, sliding away from Dean and turning over, showing him his back. He's about an inch from falling off the side of the bed, as though he can't get far enough away from Dean. So much for his presence being "soothing."

"It's not personal, I'm just not exactly in the business of sharing a bed with a dude, you understand?" Dean scrubs his hand through his hair when Cas doesn't respond. "There's no need to be a dick about it."

Cas still doesn't acknowledge him.

"You're being a baby!" he spits, pushing off the bed and stomping over to the couch. He lies on his back, arms crossed over his chest and legs hanging over the armrest. A few moments pass with Dean glowering at the ceiling, occasionally glancing at Cas's back.

When Cas breaks into another fit, Dean jumps, standing before he remembers that he's still pissed off. He watches as Cas fights through the hacking, and clenches his fists at his side to keep from going to him.

"You alright?" he can't help but ask once the coughing calms down.

Cas coils in on himself, and Dean just barely makes out the smallest whimper of pain.

And just like that, his resolve crumbles.

He rubs his hands across his face a few times before growling in surrender and trudging across the room to the bed. Before he can let years of hard-grained, masculine instinct alter his decision, he climbs in behind Cas, turning his back on him.

"If you tell anyone about this, _especially_ Sam, I'll shave off your eyebrows while you're sleeping," he threatens, pulling his knees toward his chest and scowling.

"Agreed," Cas says from behind him, sounding way too satisfied for his own good.

"You'd better get the best night's sleep of your fucking life."

What's patently ridiculous is Cas seems to go ahead and do just that. Within minutes his breathing evens out with a contented sigh, body going limp. As much as Dean hates to admit it, he's relieved and almost flattered that his proximity helped Cas when he needs sleep more than anything else right now. What's even more surprising is how swiftly sleep finds Dean, how naturally the tempo of Cas's breathing soothes him into pleasant dreams.

It's not until Dean wakes up, however, with his arm wrapped around a warm body and nose pressed into soft, dark hair, that he realizes just how well and truly fucked he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you so much I'd slaughter half my family and eat a butt ton of purgatory souls just to keep the apocalypse from fucking up your life :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you like Charlie loves Star Wars and boobs.

" _Shit_ ," Dean curses to himself once he's fully awake. Every breath he takes dazes him with a heady dose of the ex-angel's scent; a mix of fever sweat, rain, and something new that he doesn't yet recognize. Castiel grumbles at the sound of his voice, and Dean realizes he probably should have been quieter if he wished to avoid a very awkward conversation about how he is currently _spooning his best friend_.

Though Cas is warm and Dean's more comfortable than he's been in a long damn time, he slowly begins pulling his arm back. Cas, however, in his unconscious state, doesn't seem to find that agreeable because he takes hold of Dean's wrist and drags him even closer.

With his hips now firmly slotted against the curve of Cas's ass, Dean decides discretion is no longer a priority if he wishes to keep some shred of his dignity intact.

"Cas, let go," he whispers against his nape. Cas shivers at his words but does not release his wrist.

"Cas, give me back my arm," he says louder, twisting his wrist in an attempt to wriggle away.

"No, thank you," Cas mutters through sleep-heavy lips. Dean rolls his eyes.

"Damnit, Cas, let go!" Dean's heart is beating faster by the second, and he's concerned that, since it's morning and he's only human, his blood is going to start pumping to certain organ he'd really rather ignore.

In his panic to avoid the most unwanted, confusing boner of all time, Dean jerks his arm out of Cas's grip much harder than intended, jumping back from the bed to get as far away from the warmth of a male body as he can. Cas yelps, a small, croaky noise, and immediately goes into a coughing fit. Though Dean hates the harsh sound of it and the fact it was triggered by his actions, he stays where he is, planted and staring down at Cas where he quivers and hacks on the bed.

"Sorry," Dean offers weakly as Cas mellows.

When Cas turns to look at him, it's like a kick in the gut. His nose is bleeding sluggishly, his eyes glistening with a blend of hurt and puzzlement. It's only then that Dean realizes what he did in his haste to escape the bed.

"Oh shit, did I just punch you in the face?" he gasps, tangling his fingers in his spiky hair in horror. He dashes across the room once he breaks from the shock, snatching up a tissue from his bedside table and kneeling beside Cas on the mattress. He gently pinches the tissue to Cas's nose and instructs him to lean forward between a litany of apologies.

"What happened? What did I do?" Cas asks in nasally voice. He blinks, cross-eyed, down at the tissue.

"Nothing, you didn't do anything. I—uh—I just panicked."

"Panicked about what?" Cas's gaze slides to him. His skin is so pale from the sickness it makes the color of his eyes pop, rendering them a staggering sapphire-blue. Dean's momentarily stunned.

He clears his throat and looks away before replying.

"Nothing, don't worry about it."

"I think I deserve to know what I did to merit being struck in the face, Dean." Cas scowls at him, but the effect is muted by his hair being so bed-tousled and a tissue covering half his face.

"You didn't do anything."

"Then why did you hit me?"

"Jesus, Cas, it was a friggin' accident, okay? No need for the interrogation."

"I wouldn't need to interrogate you if you answered me honestly."

Dean sputters. He can feel himself start to flush under the pressure.

"It's none of your business. Just leave it at that."

"But it's _my_ nose that's bleeding. Surely if it's anyone's business, it's mine."

"Are you always this obnoxious when you're sick?"

Cas wilts a fraction at Dean's words, breaking eye contact.

"I wouldn't know. I've never been sick before."

Immediately, Dean feels like a piece of garbage for biting the head off his newly-human, pneumonic friend. He knows he isn't being fair and if there was ever a time to be kind to Cas, it's now.

"I didn't mean to clock you in the face, okay? Of course I didn't. But I was trying to get away from you because…we…we were just too close for comfort."

"Why are you so uncomfortable with being close to me?" Cas is looking him with genuine befuddlement, his brow puckering and head canted to the side.

With a sigh, Dean removes the tissue from Cas's nose, assessing it. Luckily, the bleeding has already stopped. He delicately wipes Cas's nose and lip to remove any smeared blood, before tossing the balled-up tissue into the bin beside his nightstand. Tentatively, he places his palm on Cas's shoulder.

"It's…it's not something you would understand." Dean's words are tender, but Cas's face twists suddenly into a look of pure affront. It shocks Dean into retracting his touch.

"Fine," Cas bites.

"No, hold on, you're not—"

"Since proximity to me and my deficient character is so abhorrent to you, I suggest you leave me alone to recover my strength in private." Cas turns away from him in a jerky movement that shudders through the mattress. "And don't worry, I won't be asking you spend the night in bed with me again," he sneers, pulling the covers up to his ear and shutting his eyes tight.

"Oh, come on, Cas, don't be like that."

He doesn't respond.

"Cas?"

Nothing.

"Damnit, it's not like I didn't enjoy it!" His mouth snaps shut once the admission is out, and slaps his palm to his forehead as punishment.

"Then why did you pull away like that?" Cas asks, barely above a whisper.

"I can't…I dunno, man, it was just…instinct, you know?" While he's not exactly lying, he's not being completely honest either. He prays the answer is good enough for Cas, though he seems relentless on this topic.

"An instinct you don't believe I understand or share?"

"No, but I mean, come on, man, you're an angel…uh, or you were anyway. Of course we have different instincts, are comfortable with different things. Your…concepts of personal space, for instance…"

Cas rolls to face him.

"I'm not an idiot," he says. His stare narrows.

"I know."

"Also, your memory is inaccurate."

Dean turns away from Cas's penetrating gaze, busying himself with grabbing the bottle of codeine with acetaminophen and taking out a pill for him. He pops it straight into Cas's mouth again, encouraging him to drink the rest of the water along with it to keep him hydrated.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dean sighs, reaching to return to bottle and glass to the nightstand.

"You site my concepts of personal space, when in fact it was _you_ who was holding _me_."

Dean drops the codeine bottle onto the floor, sending white pills scuttling across the boards as his hands flail ridiculously.

"I…that's not," he sputters, quickly squatting down to collect them, and thankful for the opportunity to busy his hands and avoid meeting Cas's eyes. "I was asleep, for Christ's sake. You can't blame me for—that I was…it was just an accident." Dean drops the last pill back in the bottle and slams it down on the bedside table. He sits on the bed, bending his leg under him and crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn't look at Cas. 

"But you said you enjoyed it," Cas clarifies. Dean might be imagining it, but he swears he can hear a hint of amusement in Cas's tone. It pisses him off enough to dare meeting the ex-angel's gaze.

"What's gotten into you, huh? I don't know what you want from me. You forced me to sleep with you, and in my _sleep_ I did something stupid that didn't mean anything. This is not complicated, so just let it go."

Cas blinks a few times, jerking his head back a fraction in a rather bird-like manner.

"Oh," he says quietly. "I…right, then. My apologies, I'm…not feeling well, with the fever and being mortal, so…yes, I'll 'let it go.' Sorry…I-" Cas looks to side, his expression seeming lost and unsettled, like he doesn't know himself anymore. He takes a deep breath, coughing a few times when his lungs rattle, and turns away from Dean again.

Dean stares at the tangle of dark locks on the back of Castiel's head. He feels wrong, like he just did something really unfair, yet finds himself unable to pinpoint how. It's a far worse feeling than the flustered awkwardness he's just experienced. Dean, at his very core, wants to nurture those he cares for, wants to make things right.

Which is why, without much contemplation or intention, he moves. He folds the covers aside, slides in between the sheets, and settles against the curve of Cas's back, careful to keep his hips angled away. Lightly, he curls his palm over Cas's bicep and holds, wedging his other arm beneath their pillows. Cas tenses.

"Dean?"

"Yeah."

"I—I don't—"

"Shh, it's fine."

"But—"

"Just relax and get some rest. It's still early…and you look terrible."

Though it takes a few moments, with Dean's palm sliding up and down Cas's arm to soothe him like some wild animal, Cas finally settles, going limp against Dean's frame.

"You're right," Cas whispers. "I don't understand you."

"Yeah, well that makes two of us."

It doesn't take long for Cas to fall back to asleep with the codeine in his system. Though Dean's relieved that he's getting rest, the reality of their position still hits him. What was he thinking, putting himself right back in the situation he fought so stubbornly to avoid? It's not the first time Cas has had this effect on him, making him do rash things without foresight for consequences or implications. It makes him nervous. It makes him not trust himself. It makes him feel invigorated and a little pissed off and stupidly warm.

Eventually the tempest of his thoughts quells enough to allow him to doze. He chooses not to acknowledge the way he nuzzles into the collar of Cas's t-shirt, or how the warmth that seeps into his skin from Cas's fevered body soothes old aches and scars that had only ever hurt before. Dean is exceptional at keeping things from himself.

When he wakes, it's to the sound of knocking and a door creaking open.

"Oh…um—well, then," stammers a voice Dean would recognize anywhere. He lunges away from Cas as fast as he can, before he's even opened his eyes, and sends himself crashing painfully to the floor in a heap.

"Damnit, Sammy! What's the point of knocking if you don't wait for a reply?" he yells. He can't see the door from his vantage point beside the bed, and he's immeasurably thankful for it. The last thing he needs piled onto this epically embarrassing moment is Sam witnessing the way a blush is spreading from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears. He's already well aware that his younger brother is not going to let this go any time soon (ever).

Cas's head peeks over the edge of the mattress. He's looking at Dean with that familiar furrow in his brow, his hair in absolute chaos. The heat in Dean's cheeks flares.

"Your face is very red," Cas declares, because he's just that much of an asshole.

"Hey, thanks, Cas! I really appreciate you pointing that out!" Dean's eye twitches.

"I, uh…just wanted to check on Cas. Make sure he was taken care of…I see that wasn't a problem."

Dean goes up on his knees, elevating just enough to glare daggers at his brother over the top of Cas's head.

"I know a thousand and one ways to kill you, Samantha. So, yeah, just…you just let that marinate."

"Consider it marinated," Sam replies. Though he's doing an unusually impressive job of hiding it, Dean knows him far too well to miss the way his lip trembles in an effort to keep from smirking. Dean wants to crawl under the bed and die.

"I'm afraid I'm not much better than last night," Cas groans, seemingly oblivious to the unspoken exchange between the two brothers. He rolls onto his back and drapes his forearm over his eyes. "How long am I going to feel like this?"

Dean chuckles, stands, and goes to the couch. "You'll be recovering from this one for a few weeks, buddy," he states as plops down onto the cushions.

"Weeks?!" Cas shrieks, shooting up into a sitting position. He immediately throws himself into a gut-wrenching coughing fit in his upset. Dean can hear each hack reverberating thick and deep in his chest, heaving violently up his throat.

This time Sam is the one to go to him, placing his palm on the back of Cas's neck and petting him through it.

"I want my grace back," Castiel croaks. Dean and Sam make eye contact, looks of pity and concern passing between them.

"I know, man," Dean sighs. He gets up and shuffles to the bed, grabbing the inhaler before sitting down next to his best friend. "Take a couple puffs on this for me, will ya?"

Cas hesitates, but soon obeys, straightening his posture and turning towards him so Dean can place the mouthpiece between his lips. Dean notices that there are small tears beaded in the corners of Cas's eyes. He knows rationally that they're from the coughing, but that doesn't stop his heart from curdling in his chest. He wants to fix this…and he can't.

Cas takes his medication from the inhaler just as Dean had taught him, and it's clear that the relief it offers his lungs is instant, given the way his shoulders sag when he exhales.

"Uh…I'm no doctor, but I'm a little worried you might have asthma, Castiel," Sam says, taking his hand away from Cas's nape and assessing him.

"Did Jimmy have asthma?" Dean asks. He returns the inhaler to the nightstand and begins rubbing Castiel's back. Cas sinks into the contact like it's a warm bath.

"I…I'm not sure. It wasn't really something I needed to know. At least…not before, anyway."

"We're gonna' need to take him to a doctor at some point, Dean," Sam tells him.

"Yeah, but not now. He's got the antibiotics and the inhaler for the time being. Moving him would do more harm than good at this point."

"Alright, if you're sure."

"Trust me, I'm sure."

"I trust Dean," Cas affirms, his eyes heavily lidded from the sweep of Dean's hand on his back. He sounds half-conscious.  "No doctors."

When Sam doesn't speak for a moment, Dean glances at him. He's watching them with a soft, fond smile, but reels it in when he realizes Dean's caught him.

"Ok, then. Well, I'm gonna' make some breakfast," he announces.

"I'll give you a hand—"

"No, Dean, you stay with him. If you're not willing to take him to a doctor just yet, then I don't think you should leave him alone for too long, just in case. I'll bring you guys something."

Dean side-eyes his brother, suspecting an ulterior motive, but he decides to let it slide for the sake of having food brought to him. Dean likes food.

"Eggs are good…and coffee. And Cas could probably use some tea and fruit or something." Sam raises his eyebrows at him. "Uh…please."

"I'll see what I can do," he grumbles before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

"Hey, buddy, why don't you lie down, yeah?" Dean pushes at Cas's chest, coercing him back against his pillow. Cas's eyes are droopy. He watches Dean as he turns, curling around him where he sits, and holding Dean's hand tight to his sternum. "You okay?"

"I feel weak." He looks at Dean, with eyes so defeated and deep, as though Dean holds all the answers to his troubles…like Dean could make it stop. "I am weak."

"I'm sorry," is all Dean has to offer, though. There are nothing but useless platitudes he could babble in this situation. He knows that being human must be debilitating for Cas, let alone getting  _sick_ for the first time. Healing is not something Cas is used to waiting for. "I promise that it will get easier. You will get better." Dean says the words with so much conviction that he finds himself believing them.

"You—you make it easier, better," Cas confesses. His voice sounds strange, like he's having trouble controlling his thoughts or his words.

"How's that fever doing?" Dean asks playfully instead of actually responding. Cas's words make his chest tingle, which is not a response he cares to contemplate.

He pushes Cas's hair back from his forehead and lays his palm flat against the skin. It's radiating heat. Cas continues to watch him, not looking away for a second. "Not so good, huh?" He rakes his fingers up through dark locks. "We might need to get you into a cool bath if that doesn't go down soon."

The thought of Cas in a tub, naked, is enough to make Dean's cheeks flush so hard his freckles are probably sizzling off. It's regrettable that he wholeheartedly agrees with Sammy's point that he should stay at Cas's side, because he could really use a moment alone right now.

It's only then that he realizes he does actually have to piss like crazy. It's the perfect excuse for time to collect himself.

"Hey, I, uh, gotta' use the little boy's room. Think you can hang tight here until I get back?"

"Oh…actually, now that you mention it…I believe I need to urinate as well."

 _Well, there goes that fucking plan_ , Dean thinks acerbically.

"Would you assist me?" Cas adds, because apparently Dean is cursed to think about his best friend's dick at every opportunity.

"Oh, I—well, that's not—I really don't think—"

"I meant with getting to the bathroom, Dean. I may be new to this whole human thing, but I am perfectly capable of holding my own—"

"Yup! Okay, great, Cas, really proud of you for that achievement."

"That's not—"

"Yes, okay, I'll help you. Just, uh, here let me give you a hand…I mean an arm. I mean I'll help you up." _Fuck_.

"Dean, I didn't—"

"I know, just ignore me. Things are coming out of my mouth. Weird things. Things no one ever needs to hear in the history of…ever."

"You can be very strange."

Unexpectedly, a laugh bursts from Dean's throat. Cas's humor is almost always accidental, but that doesn't mean it doesn't tickle Dean in all the right places.

"Shut up and get over here."

Dean hooks an arm around Cas's waist and drags him to the edge of the bed. He stands, setting his footing, before taking hold of Cas's armpits and pulling him up. Cas sways once he's on his feet, head lolling to the side, but Dean is ready to support him. He holds Cas tight to his chest, arms circling his torso, while Cas rests his forehead against Dean's shoulder to gather himself.

When he does eventually find equilibrium, Cas places his hands on Dean's collar bones and straightens, bringing their faces mere inches apart. They breathe each other's air and their eyes meet and hold. Dean swallows, jaw clenching.

"Your eyes are very green," Cas murmurs dreamily, his head tilting and gaze flickering back and forth between Dean's eyes.

"Uh…thanks?" Dean cracks. He feels a shudder shoot down his spine. "Think you can walk now?"

"Yes, but please don't let go of me."

"I won't."

Though the bathroom is only a few paces down the hall, by the time they reach it Cas is exhausted, panting and leaning most of his weight against Dean's side.

"Can you hang on here alone for a minute while I do my business?" Dean asks, propping Cas against the wall outside the bathroom, and keeping a sturdy grip on his shoulders.

"Yes, Dean."

Though Cas seems pretty confident, Dean is slow to release him.

Once inside the bathroom with the door shut behind him, he makes quick work of peeing, brushing his teeth, and washing his face. He feels anxious leaving Cas alone, but it wasn't exactly like he could bring him in with him.

"Your turn," he says when he opens the door and returns to Cas, who looks like he's struggling to keep eyes open. Cas clutches his t-shirt when Dean draws him closer and begins guiding him inside. "Okay, I'll be right outside if you need me, so just call if you have any trouble. And I put out an extra toothbrush for you. You do know how to brush your teeth, right?"

"My knowledge is satisfactory."

"Right. Okay then, I'll just…leave you to it."

Dean stumbles out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and leaning back against it. He runs his hands over his face, trying to take a deep breath and distract himself from the images of Cas with his pants down. His behavior around his best friend has always been unpredictable, suspect, especially in the last year or so, but it's never been this out of control. It feels as though his brain is misfiring, sending the wrong signals to this limbs and mouth, making him react in ways he has no business reacting.

"Dean?" Cas's deep, familiar voice calls, muffled, from behind him. He rips the door open in an instant, barreling into the bathroom with his heart pounding in his ears.

"You okay?" he demands, a little breathless. Cas is sitting on the lidded toilet, his head hanging between his knees. Approaching him, Dean presses his fingertips to Cas's temple.

"I-I just felt a little dizzy. But I finished everything I needed to do."

"Good. That's good. Come on, then, let's get you back in bed."

When Dean attempts to pick Cas up again he nearly drops him, not expecting how little agency Cas has over his limbs.

"Tired," Cas explains, lips catching on the word.

"I can see that."

Before he can second guess himself, Dean gets one arm under Cas's ass and wraps the other around his waist, lifting him off the tiled floor. Cas's arms instinctively hook around his shoulders, his head settling into the curve of Dean's neck while his ankles link together against the back of Dean's thighs.

Dean turns, keeping Cas's chest flush with his own, and shuffles down the hall back to his bedroom. His skin tingles everywhere their bodies are pressed together. Goosebumps rise on his neck where Cas's hot, minty breath is puffing against it.

 

 

 

 

 

When he finally makes it to the bed, he attempts to lean forward and drop Cas back onto the mattress, but apparently Cas doesn't get the memo, refusing to relinquish his hold on Dean's neck or untangle his ankles. With a yelp, Dean keels over onto the bed with Cas beneath him before he can right his balance.

 _Oh, sweet mother of fuck_ , he thinks unhelpfully. Cas is staring up at him, their mouths a hairsbreadth apart. Dean's arms are caught under Cas's body. He's pinned by Cas's grip, by his weight, by his shock. His thoughts are whitewashed, his every nerve thrumming with the intensity of the moment. Their pelvises are locked together and warmth is pooling in his belly faster than he can think.

So, of course, Sam chooses that moment to bring them their breakfast.

"Oh!" Sam yips, voice higher than Dean's ever heard it.

"Goddamnit, Sam!" Dean bellows, launching himself off of Cas and tumbling, yet again, to the floor. He's fairly certain his ass is bruised.

"I'm sorry! I—I told you I was bringing you breakfast. And you left the door open!"

"That's because nothing was happening!"

Sam shoots him the most acidic bitch face the world has ever seen.

"It's true!" Dean scrambles up from the floor and advances on him. Sam flinches back but holds his ground when he realizes Dean is only trying to take the tray of food from him and not punch him.

"So…you, what, just tripped and fell on top of Cas?" Sam's tone is skeptical and ridiculously amused.

"Yes, actually. That is exactly what happened. I was carrying him back from the bathroom, and when I tried to put him down he refused let go, so I fell. Satisfied?"

"I dunno'. Are _you_?" Sam asks with a quirk of his eyebrow. Dean wants to stuff scrambled eggs down his pants.

"Thank you for the food," Dean hisses through clenched teeth. Sam starts backing away, his hands up in a placating gesture.

"No problem. Just let me know if you guys need anything else…water, medication, condoms…"

Dean tries to charge him but is forced to halt to avoid spilling the tray. Sam successfully retreats, slamming the door behind him.

"Why would we need condoms?" Cas inquires from where he's sprawled on the bed.

Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"I have no idea, Cas."

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

To reblog art on tumblr click [here ](http://rageofthenerd.tumblr.com/post/119059061605/in-light-of-all-the-painful-new-destiel-feels-i)or [here](http://rageofthenerd.tumblr.com/post/65081146084/a-need-for-breathing-by-phyona-chapter-two-is#notes-container) 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, you fabulous, sassy things. If you croaked I'd barter my soul with a demon to bring your sweet tookus back from hell.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you like Sam loves romaine lettuce and moose stuff (whatever that is). Shhhh, I'm tired, it's been a long-ass writing day mmkay my brain is fried like most of the food Dean eats heyooo what am I even saying anymore

Sitting with his back propped against the headboard and the food tray in his lap, Dean prepares a small plate for Cas.

"Thank you, Dean," he says when Dean passes it over. Strawberries and scrambled eggs might be a strange combination but all food probably tastes bizarre to Cas considering he spent the last few millennia as a sentient light ball.

"Want some tea?"

"Yes please."

"You know, you don't have to keep saying all this polite 'please' and 'thank you' crap. It's just me." Dean stirs a hefty spoonful of sugar into Castiel's mug and passes it over.

"It's important to be polite," Cas declares sagely, sipping his tea before placing it on his nightstand.

"Who told you that?"

"Society." Cas pops a strawberry into his mouth and looks at Dean with a puckered brow. Dean thinks he resembles a grumpy chipmunk with too much food stuffed in its cheeks.

"Since when do you know anything about society?" Dean takes a big bite of his breakfast, and contemplates that Sam cooked his eggs rather well for an oaf that survives on a salad diet.

"Since I spent the last month homeless on the road trying to get to you. I learned pretty quickly that courtesy was more rewarding than rudeness."

Dean's halfway to stuffing another forkful of eggs into his mouth when he freezes, Castiel's words slamming into him.

"Cas," Dean begins, putting his utensil back on his plate and setting the tray aside. "Exactly how hard was it getting to the bunker?"

"Oh, horrific. I'm certain I would have died were it not for a few homeless shelters and the courtesy of truck drivers, considering the disease I contracted. Being human is far more hazardous than I'd imagined."

Dean feels the back of his throat curdle.

"And you chose in all your infinite wisdom  _not_  to call me because—"

"Because you were focused on Sam. You may deny it all you wish, and I appreciate the gesture, but it's hardly a secret that he's your priority. Besides, it's not as though you made an effort to reach me." Cas states it so casually, like he didn't just slap Dean in the face, even stuffing another strawberry in his mouth as though he has nothing more to say on the matter. Dean thought he'd thwarted this conversation thread earlier, but apparently Cas doesn't listen to him.

"He's my brother."

"Exactly."

Dean rubs his palm across his face.

"I can have more than one priority, you know."

Cas stares at him sardonically. It's an unusual look on the ex-angels face, and Dean's beginning to notice that Cas has become far more expressive since losing his grace. Must be all the human in him.

"Your history would suggest otherwise."

"I don't—"

"I'm not saying it's a negative or that I want you to change. I've always admired how protective you are over Sam, even if your sentiment occasionally causes catastrophe of epic proportions."

"Gee, thanks Cas."

"You're welcome."

"I said stop it with the polite crap!"

"But you thanked me…"

"I was being sarcastic, damnit. And you're wrong, he isn't always my priority."

"I can't think of an occasion when he wasn't," Cas comments, placing his plate on the bedside table, picking up his mug, and sipping from it. He moans a little when the warm liquid sluices down his raw throat, and Dean's train of thought derails for a moment.

"What about Purgatory?" he asks once his brain cells start working again.

"What about it?"

"Don't make me say it." Dean suddenly feels uncomfortable, wishing he'd never brought up the "p" word in the first place. It's a sore subject with them.

"I'm not making you do anything."

For some reason the lack of pressure from Cas, the way he offers Dean agency over the conversation, makes the words come all too easy. Dean needs him to understand.

"I did everything I could to get you out, it was all that mattered. I wasn't…I wasn't thinking about anyone else."

Cas pauses in drinking his tea, eyes going distant.

"So—" Dean begins, but is interrupted when Cas coughs violently, spilling hot tea all over his chest.

Cas flails, trying to put his mug on the nightstand and spare himself the burn, but his whole body is convulsing with coughs and he can't get his hands steady. Dean immediately endeavors to help him. He reaches across Cas's front and stabilizes the mug on the table, before gripping the hem of Cas's wet t-shirt and pulling it over his head as fast as he can. It catches on Castiel's head, disheveling his hair even further.

"You alright?" Dean asks, tossing the sodden shirt to the floor. Cas is still working through the last of his coughing fit, his forearm covering his mouth and tears pearling at the corners of his eyes. "Are you hurt?" Dean presses his fingertips lightly to Castiel's chest, trying to feel how hot the skin is.

When Cas brushes off his touch, Dean realizes what a precarious position he's gotten himself into. He's straddling one of his thighs, one of his hands braced on Castiel's hip. The same Castiel, with his bare, wet chest, whom Dean _undressed_ not a moment before.

As carefully as he can, Dean crawls to the side, putting some distance between them.

"Cas?" he tries again, because it is important for Dean to know if he just gave himself second degree burns. He can't help but stare at the pink splotches darkening on his well-toned, smooth chest, and the amalgam of worry and faint arousal the sight is giving him is rather befuddling.

" _Fine_ ," Cas snaps, his tone so acidic he sounds anything but.

"Alright, alright," Dean placates. He hops off the bed to fetch Cas the damp towel from the day before, and a clean t-shirt.

"I'm pathetic, Dean," Cas spits, ripping the towel from Dean's hand once he approaches and rubbing the moisture from his chest. He winces, and Dean almost rolls his eyes but refrains at the last second. Dean's not the most tactful man in the universe, but even he recognizes this isn't the time to mock his friend for poor comprehension of how pain works.

"You're not pathetic, Cas, you're human. Though I guess in some ways they are kind of the same thing." He chuckles but trails off when Cas glowers at him.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Of course I should, don't be ridiculous."

"There are other things, cases, that require your attention. You're wasting your time with me."

Dean sighs and hands Cas the fresh t-shirt. "Whatever, man. Say what you want, but I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I was an angel before you were even a species, and I don't—"

"Yeah, well now you're  _one_  of my species, and since I'm the denizen on the subject you can shut your cake hole and let me do my thing before you hurt yourself again."

"I don't need you!" Cas growls, his eyes flashing in anger. He tugs on the Led Zeppelin shirt so violently that Dean can hear a few seams rip.

Dean freezes where he stands, expression going blank. Somehow, whether he meant to or not, Cas managed to strike Dean at his most sensitive nerve. He can't process how he feels, how to react, all he knows is that he needs to leave the room as fast as he can.

"Right," Dean says, monotone. With a few brisk steps he goes to the food tray, putting it back on the bed and turning on his heel. "Make sure you…eat…that." He strides towards the door as he gestures to the food with a flick of his wrist.

"Dean—" Cas begins, but Dean doesn't want to hear his voice anymore.

"I'm just gonna—" he grunts on his way out, shutting the door behind him and bolting down the hall like there's a hellhound on his heels.

"Dean?" Sam queries when he barges into the library a few minutes later. "Aren't you supposed to be with Cas?"

"He's fine." Dean takes a long pull from the beer he grabbed from the kitchen on his way to the library. Sam's gaze pauses on the bottle but he wisely chooses not to question why Dean is drinking before noon.

"Fine?"

"Yeah, fine. Perfectly fine. Doesn't need me, apparently." Dean collapses into a chair across from him and props his feet on the table.

Sam closes the book he was reading and sets it down in front of him. He crosses his arms, leans back in his chair, and when his eyes find Dean's they're carefully neutral.

"He specifically said he didn't need you?"

"Yeah, that's what I just said."

"Don't snap at me; I made you breakfast."

The aggravation drains from Dean in an instant, his shoulder's drooping. He'd been trying not to take things out on Sam anymore, and here he was being nasty when the man just made him well-cooked eggs. He wishes he hadn't just left all of them for Cas, since now he's upset  _and_  hungry. "Sorry," he mumbles.

"He's just aggravated with feeling weak, Dean," Sam says softly.

"Yeah well, it's not my fucking fault he's human," Dean counters, though he can't muster any bite in his tone. "I'm just trying to help him, but he never…he never lets me just…," he trails off, staring at Sam's book without really seeing it.

"If you want a break I can look after him for a while," Sam offers on a sigh. Dean's knee-jerk reaction is a profound  _no_. He's not given to abandoning his post or his friends, not anymore, but he feels raw and unpredictable with Cas's words festering in his thoughts.

"I—alright fine." He punctuates with a few chugs of his beer, watching across the shaft of the dewy bottle as Sam rises to his feet.

"I'll go check on him."

"Fine. I'm gonna'…um, hit the shooting range for a while."

"In your pajamas?" Sam asks. Dean had completely forgotten what he was wearing.

"Yeah, in my damn pajamas, Sammy. Evil doesn't care what I'm wearing."

"Whatever you say."

* * *

 

By the time Dean returns to the library he's coated in sweat and his muscles are sore. After a few hours of shooting targets didn't alleviate his frustration with his ex-angel, he strapped on his sneakers and went for a brutal run around the hilly grounds of the bunker. His knees are swollen and his pajamas are spattered with mud, but he feels better than he did that morning.

"The hell happened to you?" Sam drawls from where he's sprawled out on the couch with his laptop.

"Oh nothing, just getting in shape so I can kick your ass the next time you leave your crap in my car."

Sam rolls his eyes.

"Might wanna' lay off the burgers then."

"Fat chance, Sammy. In fact, I'm starving, so how 'bout I make some for dinner tonight. My treat?"

Sam keeps his eyes on his laptop, his fingers dancing across the keyboard.

"Might I suggest you take a shower first."

"Was just going to, dumbass. But first, uh, have you…have you checked on the, uh, invalid?"

Sam glances up from his screen, eyes finding Dean's. His gaze is sharpened by the blue glow of the computer screen.

"Since I'm assuming you're referring to Cas, he was asleep last time I checked. Gave him a few codeine pills to knock him out."

"Right. Right, good."

Sam's eyes narrow for a moment, but before Dean can translate the expression behind them they return to the screen. Dean sighs and turns to make his way to the shower.

"Asked about you, though," Sam mutters, stopping Dean dead in his tracks.

"What?" Dean blurts, louder than he intended as he spins around on his heel. Sam resolutely doesn't look at him.

"He wanted to know where you'd gone…and if you were upset."

"Well, what did you tell him?"

"I said you were under the impression you weren't needed anymore."

Dean swallows hard and nods, trying not to look too desperate for information.

"And what did he say?" he attempts to ask casually.

"He told me that he keeps a photo of you in his locker and that he wants to ask you to prom."

"He—wha—you-"

" Jesus, Dean, go take your shower before you hurt yourself."

Heat flares in his Dean's cheeks. His fists ball at his sides.

"Fuck you very much, dickbag."

"Love you too, dear," Sam retorts with a leer, focus returning to his laptop.

* * *

 

Dean takes longer in the shower than usual, standing under the warm spray well after the mud and sweat has washed down the drain. His new home really does have excellent water pressure.

Though firing a gun, exercise, and bathing have alleviated most of his pent-up frustration with his best friend, there's still a sharp, aching part of him that has yet to be soothed. It makes his teeth clench and his shoulders bunch. Still, he can't let himself contemplate why he's let Cas have such power over his emotions. It's a path of thought that Dean has lined with neon warning signs, for he knows it can't lead to anything good.

Running his palm slowly down his chest, he hesitates to feel the slight plush of his stomach that one day of running isn't enough to tone. Maybe Sam has a point about the burgers, but Dean's got far worse demons than an affinity for wholesome food.

When his hand moves, his fingers catch on the jut of a hip bone and pause to swirl around it, igniting tingles and warmth under his skin. It's the feeling he'd been searching for, the specific kind of release that's left him taut and agitated in its absence.

Sliding lower, he smoothes his callused fingertips down the crease of thigh, touching tantalizingly close to where he can feel himself beginning to swell. He rubs his groin muscle, sore from the run, in slow circles and exhales at the relief of pleasure-pain and easing tension.

"Fuck," Dean mumbles, feeling his dick twitch, bumping against his thumb, with each press of his hand. He's needy, hardening.

Finally, he takes himself in his palm, too tired and hungry to drag out the anticipation any longer. Grip tight, he drags his fist down the shaft of his cock, trembling when a charge of pleasure shoots up his spine. He leans back against the shower wall, immersing himself in the spray and shutting his eyes tight. Each pump of his fist pulls him tighter into bliss, each graze of his thumb over the head sends a quiver down his legs. He takes his balls in his other hand and kneads them gently in time with his strokes. With a squeeze, a bead of pre-come spreads off on his thumb. Dean knows he must be particularly desperate since it's unusual for him to produce any.

In a moment he's close, sooner than expected, but he needs something to push him over the precipice; a thought, an image. Unfortunately, the first thing that comes to mind, blazing bright in his head, is the memory of Cas, spread out and naked on his bed. He can see with shocking clarity the V of his pelvis and the weight of his dick against his thigh. He wants to put his mouth everywhere, wants to taste him on his tongue. He wants to take Cas apart.

Dean comes with a whimper, back arching off the shower tiles and his best friend's name caught in the back of his throat.

* * *

 

When Dean emerges from his shower, feeling relaxed, a little guilty, and pleasantly sore, he realizes with a curse that all of his clothes are, in fact, in his bedroom, along with the one person he's trying to avoid. Wrapping a towel around his waist and ruffling the moisture from his hair until it's spiky, he makes his way down the hall.

"Cas?" he asks, tone cold, when he creaks open the door to his room. Cas immediately sits up in bed as though he's at attention for his commander, his eyes wide. He's nervous, and for some reason the idea of this ex-angel of the Lord being nervous because he thinks Dean's feelings are hurt is incredibly amusing. It makes Dean less apprehensive, but not quite forgiving.

"Just getting my clothes," Dean clarifies, making a beeline for his dresser. He glances at Cas as he pulls open a drawer, finding his jaw clenched and his blue eyes raking over Dean's body. He looks uncomfortable, or intensely focused. Dean can't decipher which, and it makes all his nerves come back in full-force. He suddenly feels wholly naked, what with the damp towel clinging low on his hips and his torso bare and glistening. "I'll, uh, be out of your hair in a second," he mutters.

"No, I—It's your room," Cas stammers. In his periphery Dean watches Cas's head swivel, as though he's trying to look anywhere in the room where Dean isn't. For some reason it pisses Dean off, makes him feel vengeful and mischievous, so, completely on impulse, he abandons his shyness, flicks his wrist, and drops the towel to the floor.

Cas freezes like a petrified rabbit, his pupils blown wide and stuck staring, unfocused, at some spot beside Dean's naked figure. Dean can't help but smile to himself as he pulls a pair of boxers from his dresser and slides them up his thighs far slower than necessary. He lets the elastic catch and drag up the swell of his ass, feeling the back of his neck prickle because he knows without seeing that Cas is watching from the corner of his eye. Cas coughs once, but it comes out sounding like a yip and it takes all of Dean's resolve not to laugh.

Since he has no plans to leave the bunker for the rest of the night, Dean dresses in sweatpants and an old 'Empire Strikes Back' t-shirt.

"I'm making burgers for dinner. That alright with you?"

Cas offers a jerky nod, his hands fiddling with the hem of the sheets.

"You need anything before I go?" Dean knows his tone is flat and icy, but he hasn't forgotten Castiel's words even if he is willing to show off his ass a little. Moreover, he feels bitter offering him any help after what he's said, regardless of how sick he is.

"Yes, Dean, I…I wanted to apologize for what I said earlier."

"Oh?" Dean inquires, feigning ignorance.

"Yes. When I said…what I said, I didn't intend it the way it sounded."

"I see. And how did you intend 'I don't need you'?" He knows he's being a bit brutal, but this isn't a subject he's willing to just let slide.

Cas sighs, coughing on the exhale but managing to avoid a full-blown fit. He runs his fingers through his hair, which Dean notices is messier than he's ever seen it.

"I am not comfortable relying on the care of others, especially you," Dean raises an eyebrow, "because it means that I am no longer useful to you. I do not wish to be a burden, and I know I am now. And since I'm human, possibly forever, I'm concerned that I will perpetually be an inconvenience, unable to contribute, unable to save you when you require it. It's…I can't imagine you'll need me after I'm healed and I'm not…um, it's not what I want."

Cas holds Dean's stare until he's finished speaking, then he looks down at his hands and actually fucking  _blushes_. In as long as Dean's known him he's never seen Cas blush, not even when he took him to a "den of iniquity" as Cas so strangely called it. He realizes it was probably because Cas could control his vessel's biological reactions when he was still an angel. Now, he's just Cas, flushing and fumbling his fingers in a manner that's far too cute for his own good.

"Cas," Dean says, drawing blue eyes back to his own. "Sam and I aren't some souped-up magical beings either. No one's gonna' kick you out of the bunker for being human. I… _we_ , might even prefer you this way. And so what if you suck at hunting for a while, that's what you've got us for; to train you. Besides, it's not like I've never gotten sick before. Shit happens. So…just, take the helping hand when it's offered, yeah?"

Cas blinks a few times, processing Dean's words, while Dean patiently watches him. It's a long, intimate moment between them, with their eyes flickering over each other's faces, analyzing, cataloguing. When Cas breaks whatever it is they're sharing, Dean's so lost in the moment that he flinches.

"In that case, I should probably inform you that I feel absolutely terrible."

Dean breaks into a laugh, unable to help it after the tension between them has finally broken. Cas watches him with a smile on his pale face.

"Well, then let's get you medicated and fed, alright?"

"Yes, Dean."

* * *

 

After setting Cas up with fresh water, an extra blanket, and his old, tattered copy of 'The Lord of the Rings', as well as dosing him back up with his meds, Dean heads to the kitchen. He's been cooking somewhat frequently since they've gotten settled in the bunker, and has managed to find some joy in it. Plus, he's secretly excited to have Cas try his burger recipe, since he recalls that his vessel had an affinity for them.

"So I take it you two kissed and made up?" Sam says from the door once Dean's settled into the rhythm of cooking, startling him so bad he almost flips a burger right off the skillet.

"God damnit, Sammy. Do I have to put a fucking bell on you or something?"

"Not my fault you scare easy." Sam leans against the door frame with his arms crossed, looking far too amused for Dean's comfort.

"Yeah, we made up," Dean states, inflecting a challenge in the words.

"And how are we feeling about that?"

"We're feeling like you should keep your damn thoughts to your damn self, and go get me a few plates because dinner's ready."

Sam shakes his head and shoots him a withering glare, but does as he's told.

"I'm gonna' eat in my room with Cas so he's not alone," Dean remarks offhandedly as he puts the burgers on a plate to rest.

"Of course you are," Sam says through a toothy, half-fake smile. Dean clenches his jaw to keep from throwing beef patties at his little brother's face.

"You should eat with us," he suggests with only a hint of aggravation.

"Thanks for the offer but there's a new 'Game of Thrones' episode on tonight. I so rarely get to see the premieres that I don't want to miss it."

"Nerd."

"Says the guy in the Star Wars shirt."

"Hey, Star Wars isn't nerdy. Star Wars is cool."

"Sounds like something a nerd would say."

"Well you would know."

"You're right, I would."

Dean gives him a light slap on the back of his head, before ruffling his hair and poking him in the stomach until Sam pushes him away.

"What are you, five?" he asks through sniggers.

"Shut up and get your burger. I even made sides."

"Thanks, mom."

Dean pauses for a moment. He knows Sam only said it to tease him, but for some reason it makes him feel warm and useful in a way that he hasn't for a really long time. In fact, usually he'd be hurt if Sam called him that in jest, but things are different now.

"You're welcome, buttmunch," he says, fond and smiling like a fool as he watches his brother excitedly prepare a plate of the dinner he made himself.

* * *

 

Sharing a meal in bed with Cas is considerably better the second time around. Cas moans in pleasure almost every time he takes a bite of his burger, proving Dean's theory that ground beef is still something he favors, and making pride bloom in his chest. Dean props his laptop on a few books at the foot of the bed so they can put on 'Star Wars' while they eat, something Cas insisted on after a few questions about Dean's shirt.

"This really is delicious, Dean. You have knack for cooking," Cas mumbles around a mouthful of the last bite of his burger. Dean feels his ears heat at the praise.

"It's nothing. Just a burger, man."

"It's not. It's incredible." Cas looks at him warmly as he chews, his eyes glassy from fever and codeine. Even with the medication, he's worse than Dean's seen him all day. He can tell the fever is spiking despite the ibuprofen he's taken, and Dean knows from memories of caring for Sam the one time he had bronchitis that these things are always nasty at night.

"Hey, buddy, why don't I put this shit away and help you get ready for bed. You're looking a little worse for the wear."

"I…yes, that's…I do feel strange."

"I can tell."

"My…um, nothing's wrong right? I'm not wrong?"

Dean's brow twitches at the question. It's unusual and worrying and makes him want to get Cas horizontal as fast as he can, and not in the same way he wanted to get Cas horizontal when he had his special shower time.

"No, man, you just need to lie down. We'll get you set up so you can sleep and you'll be fine."

It's a process getting their dishes in the kitchen, which he figures Sam can clean since Dean made the dinner, and assisting Cas to the bathroom and back. He's as weak on his feet as the previous night so Dean doesn't bother making him walk. Unfortunately, though they've been in this position before, Dean's no less flustered holding Cas tight against his chest, his legs and arms wrapped around him and his face buried to Dean's collarbone. He knows he's blushing all over his face, fixated on every single place they're touching. Memories of taking himself in hand with Castiel's name on his lips taunt him, yet again, in the back of his mind.

By the time he's settled Cas back in bed, his whole body is wracked with shivers. He has a long, harsh coughing fit when Dean puts him down that leaves him trembling and red-faced, looking ten-times sicker than before.

"I need to take your temperature," Dean states, grabbing a thermometer from the supplies Sam brought in earlier. Cas hadn't seemed ill enough before to warrant taking his temperature, and Dean's feeling pretty stupid for his poor judgment. He pushes the thermometer between Castiel's lips and holds it for him. "Put it under your tongue." Cas blinks up at him, bleary-eyed, but does as instructed. Within a few moments the device beeps.

"102.8. Fuck, Cas. If this doesn't go down soon, we're taking you to the hospital."

"No!" Cas croaks, coughing and trying to push himself up. "I've spent enough time in hospitals." Dean's not sure what Cas is referring to for a minute until he remembers Cas's stint in the asylum after he took on Sam's little souvenir from The Cage. He hates thinking of that time and how he left his friend alone with a demon, too hurt and afraid to see what had become of him. He can't say he blames Cas for not wanting to go back.

"We might not have a choice, but I'll do my best to bring it down without it. Now, have some water for me?"  Dean grabs Cas's cup and sits on the edge of the bed. He slides his hand under Cas's head to help him lift it, guiding the edge of the glass to his lips.

"Better?"

"Yes, Dean," Cas croaks, head falling back to the pillow once he's satisfied.

"Think you can sleep?" Dean presses his palm to Cas's forehead.  It's way too hot.  "Shit," he whispers as he pushes Cas's hair back, working his fingers through the locks to establish some sense of order from the chaos it's become.

"I'm not sure."

Dean takes a rallying breath.

"Roll on your side. I'll, uh…I'll scratch your back 'til you fall asleep."

Cas nods, seeming dazed, pliant, and not comprehending of what Dean is suggesting.

Dean puts his laptop aside, resolving to show Cas 'Star Wars' properly another day, before turning off the light. He figures he can go back on his computer once Cas is asleep, since it's still early, but once he settles in behind his friend under the blankets he realizes how very tired is. After sleeping shallowly in his concern for Cas the previous night, and running around the bunker today, he's not only drained, but sore.

He pushes up the back of Castiel's t-shirt to make room for his hand before skimming his fingernails up and down the hot skin of his back. Cas makes a small noise of contentment, sinking further into the mattress and pillow. Dean can feel the muscles relax beneath his fingertips.

"Good," he praises, drawing random patterns with his nails.

It doesn't take more than a few minutes for Cas's breathing to go slow and even, but Dean keeps scratching for at least another hour, wanting to be certain that he's deep in sleep. When he can barely keep his eyes open anymore, he hooks his arm around Cas's middle and sidles up close. Even though he's unconscious, Cas's body is quivering against Dean's chest.

Before sleep finally pulls Dean under, he thinks with a sigh that this fever is starting to scare him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My intention is that the next chapter be the last...but I'm sooOOOooo changeable so who knows.
> 
> (sidenote warning: Dean is not a doctor and neither am I...)
> 
> Your comments make me wanna show up naked on the hood of your car, covered in bees.
> 
> For update information check out [my tumblr](http://rageofthenerd.tumblr.com/). That's usually where I reside.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that time I said this would probably be the last chapter? Haha..ha...ha...LIES. But I swear the one after this will be. Really, I promise *sweats nervously*

Dean's awoken in the middle of the night by the sound of Castiel groaning. He's alert in an instant, jarred by the distress behind the sound and by how violently his friend is shaking. Cas is so hot in his arms that Dean's own body is covered in sweat.

"Cas," Dean croaks, voice sleep-hoarse, as he props himself up on an elbow. "Are you okay?"

Another noise of dismay breaks from Castiel's throat and he starts squirming on the sheets.

"Cas, wake up, buddy," Dean murmurs, touching the backs of his fingers to Cas's cheek. His skin feels as though a sun is burning inside him.

"Dean, please," Cas moans, curling in on himself. "I'm sorry, so sorry."

"You got nothing to be sorry for, man."

"I didn't want to hurt you. She  _made_  me. Over and over, she made me."

Dean's head jerks back. Evidently Cas is having some pretty unpleasant fever dreams. He wonders if the "she" he mentioned is Naomi.

When Dean smoothes his fingers down Cas's cheek again, they come away wet with what Dean initially thinks is sweat, but when he looks closer, forcing his eyes to focus in the low light, he discovers it to be tears. Worry clamps in his chest like a vice.

"Come on, baby, wake up," Dean coos, and then flinches in embarrassment because he just called his best friend "baby" and he has no idea where that came from. For the sake of Castiel, though, who probably didn't hear him anyway, he shoves his discomfort aside.

With a careful pull Dean turns Cas onto his back. He's stiff with tension from the shivers quaking through his body, and his eyes are squeezed shut.

"Cas," Dean tries again. He cards his fingers through dark hair as he leans over him.

Suddenly Castiel's eyes fly open, locking on Dean's with such an intensity behind them that he glimpses the angel for the first time since he fell. In a burst of movement, Cas's arms hook around Dean's back and yank him down on top of him.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. Just a dream," Dean whispers as Cas clings to him, fingers clawing at his shirt. He's panting and Dean can hear him wheeze, struggling around the gunk in his lungs. Dean wedges his arms under Cas's shoulders, holding him. "Calm down or you're gonna' give yourself a fit."

Slowly, as though he can't help but follow Dean's command, Cas relaxes beneath him. Only then does Dean realize what an incriminating position he's gotten himself into. With one leg between Cas's thighs, his entire front is blanketed down onto his friend, who is currently breathing hot into the side of his neck. His pelvis is lined up with Cas's hip, his mouth brushing against Cas's collar bone…and on top of that he just called the guy "baby" by accident. Wherever Dean's line lies with Cas, it's definitely been crossed.

Yet, just as he's about to pull away, Cas says something that stops him right in his tracks.

"Something's wrong."

He sounds so panicked, so certain, that it sends off about fifty alarm bells in Dean's head. Dean pushes up on his forearms so he can look down at Cas's face. Tear tracks stripe his cheeks, which are deathly pale, and his eyes shine unnaturally with the sway of fever. He's looking into Dean's eyes with a silent plea for help woven into the blue of his irises.

"What's wrong?"

"It's all…everything aches. I'm too hot and too cold. I don't know, I…I just feel wrong."

"The fever is spiking."

"Yes, I think so."

"We need to get you in a bath," Dean states low, clarity of purpose washing over him. He has a mission and suddenly nothing else matters other than bringing down the fever.

"Okay," Cas replies, nodding.

Dean grabs the thermometer off the nightstand, pressing the button and sliding it between Cas's lips.

"Hold that under your tongue while I carry you."

Folding away the covers, Dean tumbles off his friend and gets to his feet. He takes hold of Cas's biceps and drags him into a sitting position before pulling him to the edge of the mattress.

"Put your arms around my neck," he orders, slipping his hands under Castiel's ass as he complies. With a grunt, he picks Cas up into his arms, feeling his own knees shake at the burden of dead weight. Cas's legs hang limply at Dean's sides and his arms drape over Dean's shoulders.

It's a grueling walk to the bathroom since Dean's already sore from the day before and Cas feels infinitely heavier when he's not helping Dean hold onto him. Fortunately, the bathroom closest to Dean's room has the only bath in the building; an old, clawfoot tub that they've never used. Dean prays that it's in working order as he shuffles down the hall.

He kicks open the bathroom door and trundles to the tub, depositing Cas on the floor against the wall.  He fumbles for the lightswitch on the wall, flicking it on when he finds it.

"Hang in there for me, alright?" Dean pleads as he rotates the faucet handles. Thankfully, no questionable liquid pours from the tap so it appears to be functional. Dean plugs the drain and adjusts the temperature. He knows from experience with Sam that room temperature water is better than cold water, unless he wants Cas to go into shock or exacerbate his shivering.

The thermometer beeps as the tub is filling and Dean extracts it from Castiel's mouth since he doesn't seem inclined to use his arms any time soon.

"Fuck, 103.8. Shit." Cas looks at him with anxious, dilated eyes. "I mean, uh, you'll be fine. We'll get it down."

"Please don't take me to the hospital," Cas begs. His voice is cracking and small. Dean sighs.

"I'll try my best not to."

" _He'll_  get me there."

"Who will get you?" Dean asks, perplexed, as he swishes the bathwater with his hand to blend it.

"Lucifer. He's there. I left him there."

Dean freezes and slowly turns his head to really look at Cas's face. He's alabaster pale, the dark circles under his eyes like smudges, his mouth downturned in a pout.  His eyes are so glassy he looks like he's about to burst into tears.

"Cas, Lucifer's gone," Dean assures him, flicking the moisture from his fingers and scooting across the tiles. He kneels between Cas's legs and clutches his shoulder.

"He told me you'd left me. Over and over, he—why did you leave me? I'm sorry, I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was wrong, so wrong, and then you left. I ruined it. I ruined everything and now you don't want me anymore-"

"Shhh, Cas, what? No-"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please don't give me back to him. He told me, he said you didn't need me. He said you were never coming back—"

Cas's breath is catching on every pull, his rumbling lungs threatening to send him into a fit at any moment.

Acting on instinct, desperate to calm his friend, Dean leans forward and kisses him beside the corner of his mouth. It's a short, passionless touch, nothing more than a desperate method of startling Cas out of his panic attack. Cas's skin is shockingly warm against Dean's cool lips, and when he pulls back Cas is staring at him, mouth open, his blue eyes wide and bewildered.

"You kissed me," he whispers, proving that Dean's distraction tactic was successful.

"I did, didn't I."

Before Dean can process the implications of what he's done or Cas's reaction to it, Cas takes Dean's face in his hands and falls forward, locking their lips together.

For a moment, Dean's stunned, his eyes flying open and his hands suspended in air.

As soon as he comes back to himself, Dean pushes Castiel away with a gentle hand on his chest. Cas falls back against the wall, looking confused and hurt and not entirely sure where he is.

"Dean, I—I'm sorry—"

"It's fine. You're not, uh, yourself, so just…"

"Dean—"

"Just forget it happened, alright?" he snaps a little more harshly than he intended. Cas recoils, drawing in on himself.

"Oh, your bath should be ready," Dean stammers, scampering away from Cas and returning to the tub faucet, grateful for an escape. He knows his face is flushed and his hands tremble when they fiddle with the valves to turn off the flow. While he's not sure what he's doing when it comes to caring for Cas, he's fairly certain sending mixed romantic signals isn't the best course of action. He's confused, flustered, and even guilty because he worries he just took advantage of a sick guy who has no control over his actions.

Tapering Cas's fever proves to be a sufficiently distracting task over freaking out, because Dean reverts back into that familiar "emergency mode." He can tell that Cas is having trouble supporting himself against the wall, tipping over every few seconds before he remembers to right himself.

Dean resolves that the only thing that matters is subduing the fever. Analyzing the kiss he just shared with his best friend until he makes himself crazy can wait.

"Come here," Dean says, crouching next to Cas and gripping the hem of his t-shirt. "We'll take off your shirt and your pants but leave your boxers on." He makes his tone as clinical as possible so Cas doesn't misinterpret his intentions, though he's apparently not very successful because Cas blushes for the second time in memory. The pretty pink tint to his white cheeks is very hard to ignore, but Dean manages.

Cas doesn't stop staring at him, even when Dean tugs the shirt over his head, tousling his hair, or drags his pajama bottoms down his legs. For a fleeting moment Dean is distracted by the fact that Cas is still wearing  _his_  underwear, but he swiftly ignores it again.

"I'm gonna' pick you up, alright?"

Cas blinks at him but doesn't nod or speak. He appears to be having difficulty focusing.

On a deep breath, Dean hooks one arm under Cas's knees, the other around his back, and hauls him up into his arms. He takes the few steps to the tub, stumbling only a little, and slowly lowers Cas down. His abs quiver from bearing the weight, but he does his best to gradually introduce Cas to the bath. Castiel gasps at the first cool touch of water, but doesn't struggle, sitting in the tub with his knees pulled up when Dean releases him. His eyes remain married to Dean's face.

"Better?" Dean asks. Cas nods, blinking and finally looking away to eye the water, as though he only just realized it was there. Dean retrieves two towels from beside the sink, one for him to kneel on and the other for Cas, and returns to the tub. After setting up his make-shift cushion, he dips the smaller towel in the water and squeezes out the excess. He seals it over Castiel's forehead, imagining he could almost see steam rise from his skin.

"This should cool you down a bit," Dean mutters to himself as he scrubs the towel through Cas's hair and down the back of his neck. Cas leans forward obediently to accept the washing. Dean dips the towel back into the water and swipes it across his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," Dean hears Cas whisper into his knees.

"Nothing to be sorry for."

"I thought…I thought you—"

"Doesn't matter," Dean interjects, praying to avoid a conversation about the kiss-that-must-not-be-named.

"I don't know why I did it. I should have known you'd—"

"Cas, please, just relax, man. What happens in the bathroom stays in the bathroom."

Cas shifts back and tilts his head. Dean has trouble meeting his eyes.

"Is that what you want?" he asks.

Dean's dumbstruck for a stretch of time, his thoughts lodged somewhere between processing the way Cas is looking at him and the impossibility of answering appropriately.

"I want you to feel better," he hears himself say.

"Why?"

It's such a paradoxically bizarre yet simple question that for a while Dean isn't sure how to respond. While he contemplates he continues to wash Castiel's shoulders, using his task as a reason to avoid eye contact.

"I care about you," is what he eventually comes up with. It's minimal but it gets his point across without too much exposure.

"Why?"

"Jesus, Cas, I dunno. You want a list of reasons?"

"Yes."

Dean's about to snap at him that he's not into stroking anyone's ego, but he's held back by the sheer vulnerability of Castiel's position. He looks like a soft breeze would knock him over, exhausted and almost naked with his best friend washing his back because he can barely lift his head. There was a time when Cas could slaughter a roomful of demons with a swish of his wrist, and now he's vanquished by a fever.

"You're funny," Dean blurts out, causing Cas's eyebrow to arch in curiosity. "I mean, you make me laugh, even if it's by accident. And you've been there for me when it really mattered. Uh…most of the time. Sam likes you, which is big for me. And you…uh…you know who I am."

Cas nods at the last, fond yet serious.

"Maybe even more than  _I_  know who I am," Dean adds. Cas nods again.

"I miss seeing your soul," Cas rasps on a rattling breath. It's a strange thing to hear from anyone, but Dean's used to Cas being odd so he's curious before he can help it.

"What did it look like?"

A wistful expression conquers Cas's face, his eyes going distant, as though he's mesmerized by the memory.

"Magnificent," he murmurs.

Dean swallows so hard it hurts. His face heats and he has to look away again. His lips tingle with the ghost of their kiss.

"Maybe you're biased," he hazards, ruffling Cas's hair with the towel in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Maybe," Cas concedes. Dean can hear him smile around the word.

Dean clears his throat before he says "we should take your temp again." He snatches up the thermometer from where it dropped to the tiles when he picked Cas up, cleans it off on the towel, and inserts it back into Cas's mouth.

He continues to wash Cas's back while they wait for it to beep, doing his best to ignore the way Cas is scrutinizing him.

"Maybe you just say that about the souls of all the poor, attractive bastards you pluck outta' hell," Dean quips, teasing.

Cas fervently shakes his head and hums a negative around the thermometer in his mouth.

"Just me then? I'm flattered, Cas."

When the thermometer beeps, Dean grabs it.

"103.1. That's better, but still not great. I'd like to keep an eye on it, make sure it doesn't get any worse, okay? I think the best thing for you is sleep. If I take you back to bed do you think you can pass out again?"

"Yes. I'm very tired."

"Good. Then let's get you out of the tub. Can you stand?"

"If you help me…"

"O'course."

After unplugging the drain, Dean gathers a large, fluffy towel from the rack beside the sink and drapes it over his shoulder. Forsaking any embarrassment of how Cas's wet boxers hide exactly nothing, Dean hooks his hands under Cas's armpits and drags him to his feet. He wraps the towel around Cas's torso, holding onto him while he finds his balance. Cas's teeth chatter as Dean rubs his hands up and down his sides to dry him off.

"This isn't gonna' be the most graceful thing in the world but bear with me."

As carefully as possible, Dean wraps one arm around Cas's waist, the other behind his knees, and lifts him into a bridal carry. He stumbles back, almost falling on his ass, but steadies himself.

The return journey to his room is worse than before since Dean's muscles have officially hit their limit for the night. When Dean finally sits Cas down on the foot of his bed he's breathing heavy and swearing off burgers for the rest of eternity.

"Left your clothes in the bathroom and I really don't feel like getting them," he pants, yanking open his dresser drawer to pull out his last pair of pajamas, some plaid boxers, and an Iron Man t-shirt.

When he turns around, Cas has stripped himself naked.

"We are really going to have to teach you some modesty," Dean grumbles, too tired and worry-worn to bother getting abashed. He pulls the t-shirt over Cas's head, helping him push his arms through the sleeves since his limbs aren't working properly.

With a deep breath, he squats down on the floor, trying to ignore how he's currently eye-level with Castiel's dick, so he can get his feet through the boxers. Jaw clenched, he drags them up Castiel's legs, desperately trying to avert his eyes. It's a slow, tortuous slide, with Dean's fingers feeling every inch of skin in staggering detail.

"Arms around my neck so I can lift you," he grits as he reaches Cas's upper thighs. When Cas does as he's told Dean raises him just enough to slot the underwear over his hips. He has to repeat the process with the pajama pants, but it's nowhere near as harrowing with Castiel's groin covered.

"Feeling better than before?" Dean asks as he tucks Cas under the covers of his bed.

"Yes, Dean."

"Good."

He re-doses him with his various medications and makes him drink half a glass of water.

"Dean?" Cas asks after he's done.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"I hate this.

Dean chuckles.

"Yeah, I'll bet."

"Not just being sick."

"Oh?"

"I hate that I need you like this. I hate being a burden. It's the last thing I want."

Dean rolls his eyes.

"I told you it's okay to need someone sometimes. You're not a burden, man. We're family…this is what family does. Besides, it's…it's not like I don't need you too."

The corners of Cas's eyes crease in some semblance of a smile.

"Don't leave?" he asks, quiet, after a moment.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

It takes a long time for Dean to fall back asleep because he busies himself with rubbing Castiel's back and gauging his temperature every few minutes. Worry has eroded a pit in his stomach. It aches every time he hears Cas mumble or cough in his sleep.

By the time dreams claim him, he's tense and nervous, clinging to Cas's back and burying his face in dark, damp hair.

* * *

The first thing Dean is aware of as he gradually climbs into waking is a pleasant feeling in his abdomen. A minute smile tugs at the corners of his lips and he sighs. He's warm, comfortable. A slow, building pleasure starts dragging up his spine, spreading in his pelvis.

"S'nice," he slurs, eyes shut, savoring the dream, however veiled it is to his cognition. He hasn't had a good sex dream in a while.

"Mmm," someone hums against his chest.

There's a long, silent moment of sleepy incomprehension before Dean's eyelids snap open. He's wide awake in an instant and blushing fiercely just as fast, because, to his great surprise, his best friend is rutting against his hip.

He's about to speak out and stop this insanity before it goes any further, but the words get stuck somewhere behind his tongue and he's paralyzed. Cas is glued to his side where Dean lies on his back, his arm wrapped around Dean's waist. Dean can feel the bulge of Cas's swollen prick where it rubs up and down the crease of his thigh.

He breaks out in a sweat, his heart beating fast, completely at a loss for what to do. He knows that waking Cas, since he's clearly unconscious, fevered, and unaware of what he's doing, will be mortifying for both of them, but he can't exactly let this carry to completion. The idea alone sends fresh rush of heat to his cheeks.

It's only then that Dean realizes his own body has betrayed him, for he's thick and heavy between his legs. Every few thrusts Cas's cloth-covered hardness brushes against his own where its trapped in his sweatpants.

Arousal, terror, and guilt war inside him, yet he doesn't make any move to wake his friend. Dean knows Cas would never consent to rubbing one out on Dean, of all people, if he weren't unconscious and lost in a fever dream. In fact he's pretty sure the guy has never had any kind of sex before.

Then, the word "Dean" rasps from Cas's throat on a moan, totally shattering any delusions about who Cas is imagining, as his friend clings impossibly closer. He snuffles at Dean's collar, scenting him and slipping his thigh between Dean's legs. The change in angle pushes their cocks into blissful alignment through their thin layers of clothing, and Dean has to bite back a grunt. Cas isn't so restrained, groaning into the side of Dean's neck. The sound is what finally spurs Dean into action.

"Cas!" he yelps, shoving himself out of the ex-angel's hold as fast as he can without injuring him.

"Dean?" Cas asks, voice cracking. He blinks slowly into waking, and Dean feels like he can witness Cas's thoughts come back online one by one.

At the moment he realizes that what he'd been dreaming wasn't actually a dream, that he really was just thrusting against his best friend's hip, Cas's eyes lock with Dean's in abject horror.

"Was I…I just…I was—"

"Yeah," Dean croaks unhelpfully, grabbing the comforter and whipping it over his waist to hide the obvious tent in his sweatpants.

"N -no…please tell me that didn't just—" Cas begs, words cutting off on a gulp. He weaves his fingers into his already messy hair and tugs, rolling over onto his front and burying his face into his pillow.

"Cas, it's oh—"

"No it's not okay!" Cas sneers, words muffled by the fabric of his pillow. "Please leave. Please,  _please_  just leave."

"Cas," Dean says tentatively, reaching out to touch his shoulder. The second his fingers make contact Cas flinches away violently, hurtling himself into the most brutal coughing fit Dean's seen him have. It's guttural and unrelenting, and Cas curls into himself on his side, clutching his chest like every cough is ripped out of him. Tears fall freely down his cheeks and he trembles so hard the bed shakes. He looks like he's in agony and Dean wants so desperately to rub his back, scratch his head,  _anything_  to make it easier, but he knows his touch isn't welcome.

"Please.  _Please_  go," Cas whispers wretchedly as the last of the coughs die down.

Dean wants to give him what he's asking for more than anything, but duty holds him back.

"I'm sorry, I need to take your temperature," he says, letting all his remorse bleed into the words.

Cas doesn't move as Dean throws the covers aside, his erection now thoroughly killed, and rounds the bed. He exhales, gathering his resolve, as he snatches the thermometer from Cas's nightstand and kneels beside him. He doesn't want to loom over Cas for how vulnerable his friend must be feeling, so he makes sure he's at eye level.

Blue, bloodshot eyes won't meet his as Dean eases the thermometer between Cas's lips. Slowly, so as not to spook him, Dean brushes his fingers across Cas's wet cheek and threads them into the hair above his ear.

"Cas," he says. "Look at me, buddy." He knows he's asking a lot, knows that Cas must be so mortified he probably never wants to see Dean again, but in that moment he  _needs_  to make this right. He needs to show him that nothing is broken. So many things have tried to tear them apart in the past, to shatter their trust and faith in each other. Dean refuses to let this be what ends them.

Gradually, Cas's tear-brimmed eyes meet his. They're so very sad, laced with humiliation, longing, and fever. Dean never wants Cas to look at him this way again.

"Cas, I don't mind," he begins, unsure of where he's going with this. "What, um…what you were doing." And he finds that as he says the words they sit true on his tongue. "But—"

"Yes?" Cas voice breaks around the thermometer. He looks defeated, readying himself for an inevitable rejection. Dean hates it so much that it makes him bold.

"Next time it might be better if we're both actually awake for you humping my leg. I wouldn't want to miss anything." In true Dean Winchester fashion he shoots Castiel a dazzling smirk, or at least the best he can muster after such a whirlwind of a morning.

Cas stills, staring, and for a moment Dean's worried he's made an egregious misstep, but then a hoarse laugh breaks from Cas's throat and the thermometer falls from his lips.

"Uh-uh!" Dean chides, grabbing it back up and returning it to Cas's mouth. "Fever takes precedence. You can marvel at my seductive wit in a minute."

Cas rolls his eyes but obediently holds the thermometer under his tongue.

They sink into each other's gaze as they wait, with their lips curved into modest smiles.

When the device beeps Dean can't unsheathe it from Castiel's mouth fast enough.

"101.5!" he announces, excited. It's still a fever but they're out of the red-zone, and it's enough to ease a deep-seated fear inside him.

Before he realizes what he's doing, he cups Cas's cheek in his hand, leans forward, and kisses him full on the lips. Cas goes stiff under his palm and he clasps Dean's wrist, pulling away.

"Dean, I don't…I don't understand."

"I don't really understand either."

"Last night, in the bathroom, you said it didn't mean anything, to forget it happened. And then just now when I w-was, um," Cas stutters, blushing. Dean wonders if this is going to be a habit with him. If so, he's not complaining. "When you woke up you pushed me away. You were very upset."

"Yeah, well." Dean rubs the back of neck with the hand not held tight in Cas's grasp. "You took me by surprise."

"I swear to you I wasn't aware of what I was doing."

"I know."

"I would never consciously violate you like that."

" _Violate?_  Jesus, Cas, it wasn't  _that_  bad. It wasn't like I had uh, no part in it."

"What do you mean?"

Dean fiddles with the sheet.

"I mean I wasn't exactly repulsed by the whole thing before I realized what was happening."

"And after you realized?" Cas asks, cautious.

Dean takes a moment to check in with himself, process his thoughts. In the past he was always uncomfortable with real intimacy of any kind, especially with a man. With Cas in particular, it was never something he didn't want necessarily, just something he never entertained the idea of having. It was impossible, out of reach. In fact, Dean never thought he'd live long enough for it to matter anyway. But there he is, mouth inches from Castiel's, who is not only in his bed but wearing his clothes, and he's staring the possibility in the face.

Being reckless always worked for Dean before, and he can't think of a reason in hell, heaven, or purgatory why he should change now.

"I want to kiss you, Cas," he states, bold and unembarrassed.

"I would like that," Cas responds on a broken laugh. He smiles in a way Dean's never seen on him before, his eyes bright.

Before he can question himself, Dean leans forward and presses their mouths together.  Castiel's lips are plush and hot, his stubble offering a pleasant scrape against Dean's chin.  In an instant Dean's senses are overwhelmed with the taste and smell of his best friend, and it makes a small whimper sneak from his throat. As if triggered by the sound, Cas grips the front of Dean's t-shirt and pulls him onto the bed as he turns onto his back. Dean goes willingly and situates himself between Cas's spread legs, bearing down on top of him. He kisses his ex-angel carefully, gripping his neck and guiding since it's clear Cas hasn't kissed many people. He cants his head to the side and nips on the swell of Castiel's bottom lip.  He drags his thumb over the flutter of Cas's pulse point. It's stilted and uncoordinated, yet for some reason they fit together as though they'd done this before in a thousand lifetimes.

With a tentative roll of his hips Dean can feel himself growing in his pants. To his surprise, there's no panic torturing him yet over the fact that he's kissing a man. It doesn't feel like kissing a man…it feels like kissing  _Cas_ , with all his otherworldly awkwardness, inexperience and passion, and it makes all the difference.

Cas makes a sound that's awfully similar to a whine against his lips, and Dean pulls back to make certain he's not pushing him too far, protectiveness overriding lust.

"Don't stop," Cas commands, voice so low it sends a jolt of tingling heat right to Dean's dick. Cas is squinting at him in warning.

"You're sure you're up for this?

"Obviously."

"But I…I just want to make sure you want this. I mean,  _really_  want this not just  _think_  you want this because you're juiced up on a fever."

"Dean, that is the most idiotic thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth, and that's saying something."

"Gee, thanks—"

"You have no comprehension of how certain I am or how long I've been certain. If anything I should be asking you that question. Are you only doing this because you feel pity for me and it's clouding your judgment? If you recall,  _you're_  the one who rejected  _my_  advances."

" _What?_  Don't be stupid. I've had a mancrush on you for, like, eight million years. I just didn't want to take advantage of you and, uh, maybe I wasn't quite comfortable with it yet."

Cas raises his eyebrows.

"If it helps I sort of maybe jerked off thinking about you in the shower yesterday."

Cas stares up at him with a frown, his eyes narrowed. Dean gulps.

"Really?"

"Yeah really."

"I'd...like to see that."

"I'll bet you would."

"Yes. Now shut up and kiss me."

Cas says "shut up" as though it's some strange human phrase he's test-driving for the first time. Still, Dean's not one to deny Cas anything, so he gives the angel what he wants.

The more they kiss the better it gets, as they discover each other's preferences and find the eb and flow of rhythm. In fact, it's starting to be the best make-out Dean's had in a long time, possibly ever, so of course Sam chooses that moment to check on them.

"Oh my fucking  _God_!" Sam squeals, turning on his heel and crashing face-first into the door frame. He flails, cries out, and keels over.

"Son of a bitch, Sammy!" Dean yells, throwing himself off Cas and tumbling, yet again, to the floor. Yeah, his ass is definitely bruised now. "Knocking! How did you never learn to fucking knock, you fucking ninja?"

"Owww," Sam groans from the floor. His hands are covering his nose, which is bleeding.

"You have the most deplorable timing, Sam," Cas gripes from the mattress.

"Sorry! You left the door open…again!" He voice is nasally from pinching his nose.

Dean crawls to Sam on his hands and knees, glaring at him.

"Let me see it," he sighs, gesturing to Sam's nose.

"It's fine!" Sam snaps, getting to his feet. "You two just…uh…continue doing what you were doing," he stammers, flustered, as he backs up towards the door. "And I want you to know that I fully support all of…all this." He rounds on his heel and slams right back into the door frame. "Damnit!"

Dean and Castiel can't help but break into a fit of giggles. Sam flips them off with a bloody finger as he staggers back into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

 [Click](http://rageofthenerd.tumblr.com/post/82603131208/made-some-doofy-kissy-fanart-for-the-chapter-4) to reblog fanart on tumblr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you like I love making Sam walk into door frames over and over again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! The final chapter of 'A Need for Breathing'. There is a fuckton of smut, so heads up (or down and then back up again) (badump 'tsht). Enjoy, my little angel assbutt fluff nuggets. :)

"So," Dean says once their laughter over Sammy's clumsiness peters out. He gets to his feet, rubbing at his sore rear and brushing off his clothes.

"So," Cas replies.

"We uh…sort of have a big gay thing going on, huh?" Dean flinches, wondering if it's possible to be any more awkward. He must be setting some kind of a record.

"If you feel it necessary to call it that, then yes, I suppose we do." Castiel reaches for him and Dean comes without a thought, letting himself be drawn under the covers and on top of his friend once again. He settles comfortably between Cas's legs, bracing himself on his elbows so he can monitor Castiel's expression.

"Though, I hope you realize I didn't have a gender for the vast majority of my existence, at least not in the way your kind would define it." Hands sneak up Dean's shirt, smoothing over his skin, and Dean shivers at the touch.

"Yeah, but now you definitely have a dick."

"A very astute observation, Dean." Perhaps to illustrate how obvious and unnecessary Dean's assessment of Castiel's anatomy is, Cas grinds his hips up.

"Yeah, definitely a dick or two down there," Dean chirps, his chest fluttering with nerves.

"And you're comfortable with that?"

"Would I be on top of you right now if I wasn't?"

"I'm not sure. You tend to project mixed signals. For example, just a moment ago we were kissing, but now that Sam saw us you're being tentative again."

Dean huffs and looks to the side.

" _Fucking cockblock_ ," he mutters.

"What does 'cockblock' mean?"

"Nothing, Cas, don't worry about it."

"But—"

"It just means that we got interrupted and it fucked with the flow we had goin', you know?"

"Couldn't we just start kissing again?"

Dean opens his mouth to counter but shuts it when he can't find a flaw in Cas's logic.

"Yeah I guess we could…" he muses after a moment.

"Well…carry on, then."

Dean snorts, frowning down at Cas and shaking his head.

"If I didn't know better I'd think you weren't human, Cas."

"I get that a lot. But usually I'm not human when I do."

"Happens to the best of us."

"I'm sorry, is there a reason we aren't kissing yet?"

"Christ, you're pushy," Dean gripes, but bends down to seal their mouths together. He takes his time now that he knows there won't be any more interruptions; makes it count.

Their first brush of lips is delicate and precise, Dean being acutely aware of every detail and place of contact. He feels the scratch of their stubble rubbing together, the hard plane of Castiel's chest against his own, the strong hands holding him close.

Taking Castiel's plush bottom lip between his, Dean sucks as he cups his chin. His tongue darts out to wet the seam of Castiel's mouth, and a burst of Castiel's flavor intoxicates his senses.

Since he's less knowledgeable, Cas seems content to follow his lead, mimicking Dean's movements. When he hooks his legs around the back of Dean's thighs it nudges their swelling cocks together, and pleasure begins to coil in Dean's abdomen. A cleansing sweat breaks out over his skin.

"This is…different," Dean breathes into Cas's mouth.

"Mmm," Cas agrees, kissing the corner of his lips, his chin, his cheek.

"Good, though. Really fucking good."

"Is it normal to talk this much during kissing?"

"Oh, fuck you," Dean snipes affectionately. He falls onto his side, turning Cas with him and keeping hold of his waist. He wedges his leg between Castiel's, giving him a firm thigh to rut against.  Their heads share a pillow and they look into each other's eyes. "I shouldn't even let you do this at all. Last night you were so sick you were hallucinating and now we're messin' around."

He seals his mouth to the pulse point under Castiel's ear and suckles, feeling a short moan rumble against his lips. Cas withdraws his hands from Dean's back and curls his fists into the front of Dean's shirt.

"I'm not entirely sure I'm not still hallucinating, given what we're doing," Cas says into his ear, his breath hot. Dean drags his lips from Castiel's neck to his chin, then his mouth. He sneaks his tongue between Castiel's lips, caressing, teasing.

" _Dean_ ," Cas whines when Dean pulls back to speak again.

"I just need you to know that we won't do something you're not comfortable with. In fact, I don't think we should do anything crazy period, because the last thing you need right now is to…uh, over-exert yourself, you know, because you're sick and all," Dean rambles, flustered. He hopes Cas is tactful or oblivious enough not to mention how Dean probably isn't comfortable with doing anything "crazy" either.

Not yet, at least.

"Dean, I have no preconceptions about what this encounter should entail. Please, feel free to do as much or as little as you desire, as long as you keep kissing me." Cas speaks like he's weary and parched, his dilated blue eyes fixated on Dean's lips as though they're the only thing that can satiate him.

"You got a thing for kissing, Cas?" Dean's breathless, hopelessly aroused by the idea that Cas is this affected from kissing alone. There are so many things he wants to show him, wants to try, together.

Cas nods, his Adam's Apple bobbing when he swallows hard.

"Come on," Dean whispers, reeling his friend in even closer. He kisses him like he's trying to win something, using every trick and technique he's acquired from his vast experience on the road. Cas is overwhelmed quickly, if the little noises he's making in the back of his throat or the way he's rubbing against Dean's thigh in short, sloppy thrusts are any indication.

Threading his fingers in Castiel's chaotic hair, Dean tugs. When Castiel gasps, his mouth opening, Dean deepens their kiss. He massages Cas's tongue with his own on each quick, unrelenting pass, drowning his senses in the scent and taste of his best friend. He pushes his thigh against Castiel's hardness, satisfying his own against the ex-angel's hip.

"Dean—" Cas gasps, jerking his head back. Dean takes the opportunity to go back to work on his neck. He nips and sucks, marking the skin as Castiel squirms against him. He's hard as a plank against Dean's thigh and clearly frazzled, kneading at Dean's chest and nuzzling his hair.

"Dean, I can't—"

"Yeah, baby, I know," Dean interrupts. He almost flinches at that damn endearment breaking out again, but he's far too aroused not to embrace it this time. Throwing caution to the wind, he slips his hand between their bodies and cups Cas's erection through his pajama pants.

"Stop!" Cas yelps, and Dean instantly wrenches away as fast as he can, putting a few feet between their bodies.

"What? What did I do?" he cracks, holding his hands up. "I'm sorry, I thought it was okay to—"

"Dean, no, I—"

"Fuck, I'm sorry. I fucked up—"

"It's not that, it's—"

"It's alright man, it's my fault, I—"

"Dean, I can't  _breathe_ ," Cas finally gasps, and Dean immediately feels like an idiot.

"Oh… _oh!_  Right! I'll just get the…" Dean scrambles to his hands and knees, snatching the inhaler from the nightstand. Now that he looks for it, he can hear Castiel's chest wheeze on each pull of air. The poor guy's lips even have a blue tint to them.

"I'm a dumbass," Dean mumbles as he holds the inhaler to Castiel's mouth and helps him take a couple puffs.

"Not at all," Cas grits once he's caught his breath. Dean can tell the asthma medication provided almost instant relief again. He's never been so thankful for medication in his life, but he still feels the familiar clamp of guilt.

"Shit, how did I even think this was a good idea in the first place? You're sick as a fucking dog and here I am, pressuring you to—"

"You didn't pressure me to do anything," Cas interrupts, irritated. "I wanted to. I just…got short of breath."

Dean blinks.

"Yeah, but—"

"I have  _pneumonia_ , Dean. If anything it's my fault for not stopping you sooner. But...I was enjoying it too much."

"Oh...good, that's—you know, for a second there I thought you were having, like, a virginal freak out on me, haha." Dean's weak chuckling trails off when Cas glares.

"No, Dean. I was not having a 'virginal freak out.'" Cas looks at him like he's about five species down on the evolutionary line.

"Right. Even still, maybe this whole hooking up thing isn't a good idea while you're not—"

"But I  _want_  to."

Dean's gaze skidders across Castiel's face, reading fever and grumpy desperation in the glisten of his eyes and the furrow of his brow. Part of him basks in the knowledge that his kissing abilities were so impactful.

"Me too, man, but I can't kiss you if you're gonna' have an asthma attack every five minutes. And now that I think about it, macking-it with a sick guy probably wasn't the best idea for me either…"

"Is pneumonia contagious?"

"Kind of…? I think it is for a little while but fuck, I'm not a doctor. Besides, I think the damage has already been done if it is."

"Can't we just…do a  _little_  kissing while we do it?"

Dean can't help but smirk, feeling playful now that Cas is breathing comfortably and his lips are returning to a normal color.

"What do you mean by 'it' exactly?"

Cas glances to the side with his forehead puckered. Dean absolutely does not find him adorable.

"Find, um," he begins. Dean watches his cheeks stain pink. "Find release…?" He asks tentatively, eyes flickering to Dean's face.

"You wanna' get off, is what you're saying."

Cas harrumphs, throwing his hands up.

"I don't know, Dean. You're the promiscuous one between us."

Dean bristles.

"Hey now, I am not a slut."

Cas raises his eyebrows.

"I'm not!" Dean repeats.

"Compared to me you certainly are."

"That's not fair; you're a virgin."

"Are you promiscuous compared to Sam?"

Dean grimaces and pretends to gag.

"Can you not bring up my brother's sex life while we're in bed? Or ever?"

"My apologies," Cas says, not sounding apologetic in the slightest.

Dean plops back down onto the bed, hooks an arm around Castiel's waist, and tugs him close.

"You're lucky you're cute," he grumbles, scowling at him.

Cas preens.

"You think I'm cute?"

"No, but someone might," Dean teases. He brushes Castiel's hair off his forehead, kisses his chin. When Cas tries to lock their lips together he pulls back, shaking his head.

"But I want to," Cas pouts, staring intently at Dean's mouth.

"I know, but it's not exactly a turn-on to suffocate the guy you're hooking up with…or, well, not in this case, anyway."

Cas looks confused.

"Pretend I didn't just say that," Dean requests.

"If you want…"

"I really do. Now, I guess since hardcore kissing is off the menu, and since you're not the most experienced dude in the world…maybe you should just relax and let me do my thing. I'll go slow and you can tell me if it gets to be too much or whatever."

"I trust you." Cas states it without hesitation or pretense, watching Dean's face with naked adoration in his gaze. It's almost too much for Dean to handle, so he guides Cas onto his back and sidles up to his side, effectively severing their eye contact. He drapes the covers over them so Cas doesn't catch a chill again, and also because he finds it easier to adapt to having sex with a male body if he can't see it. That's his theory, anyway.

"Just breathe," Dean instructs as he grazes his hand over Castiel's solar plexus. He slides it over his ribs, feeling each bump expand and recede with Castiel's breath. Cas trembles a little when his fingers find the hem of his shirt where it rests against his stomach.

"Okay?" Dean clarifies. Cas nods, humming, and Dean leans in to mouth at his jaw as his hand slips between shirt and skin. Castiel's stomach is warm and flat under Dean's fingertips. He caresses the faint trail of hair leading from his belly button. Cas's breath stutters to a halt, and Dean freezes immediately.

"Don't stop," Cas begs, his voice hoarse with want.

"I won't if you breathe for me," Dean whispers into Cas's ear, inducing a shiver.

"I'm trying."

"Try harder, baby."

"You…you keep calling me that. 'Baby'…it's an endearment, correct?"

Dean clears his throat, feeling hesitant and bashful at being called out over that damn word that just keeps slipping past his lips.

"Yeah. I can stop if—"

"No, I like it. I like the way you say it."

"Oh…uh, good." Dean smiles a little to himself, feeling warm and letting his embarrassment slough away.

Cas fills his chest with a slow, deep breath, as if to demonstrate how well he's obeying Dean's request. As a reward, Dean breaches the band of Castiel's boxers with his fingers and follows the trail of hair lower and lower. He can feel his whole face burning with heat, his heartbeat ratcheting up in his chest at the daunting sensation of touching a man in this way for the first time. And not just any man, but  _Cas_.

"Oh," Cas gasps, though he's clearly doing everything in his power to regulate his breathing.

When Dean's fingers first make contact with the smooth skin of Castiel's erection, they _both_ stop breathing.

"Jesus," Dean grunts, burying his face in Castiel's shoulder.

"I—"

Whatever Cas planned on saying is abruptly cut off when Dean closes his fist around his shaft. It's hot, a firm weight in his palm, and Dean's thankful his view is obstructed by clothes and blankets, because if he could see what he was holding he'd probably lose it.

"Tell me what feels good," Dean orders into Castiel's ear, punctuating with a short nip to the lobe. He scrapes his teeth down the tendon on the side of Castiel's neck.

"Yes," Cas replies simply, voice cracking.

Dean sets an easy pace, giving Cas every opportunity to back out. He uses the same rhythm and tightness that he would on himself, adding minor variances on occasion to keep Cas on his toes; a swirl of his thumb over the head, a drag of the pad of his finger up the underside. Cas is circumcised, just as Dean, but claims more girth. It makes Dean salivate and flush, images of what other things he could do clouding his cognizance.

"You breathing for me, baby?" Dean inquires, breathless himself. Cas nods, wetting his lips as his hand reaches over to clench in the sleeve of Dean's shirt. His other arm is wrapped solidly around Dean's back.

"Feel good?" Dean's tone is ragged with arousal. He realizes he's rolling his pelvis against Cas's hip, the friction of fabric more frustrating than satisfying.

"Yes," Cas hisses.

"You ever come before, Cas?" Dean turns his wrist in a particularly lascivious manner over the head of his dick, and Castiel's hips jerk up off the bed. A quiet groan reverberates from his throat.

"I—I tried to but I couldn't…I couldn't-"

"Finish?"

"No."

Dean lifts his head up to watch Castiel's expression as he slides his hand lower, taking his balls and kneading them. Cas's jaw falls open, his eyes widening in awe and pleasure. His face is rosy, his lips swollen and red. Dean's never seen him so beautiful.

"Wanna' make you come, baby," Dean murmurs against his hot cheek, nuzzling.

"Please," is all Cas needs to say for Dean to grow bold, determined to do this right.

He throws the blankets from their bodies before clutching the edge of Castiel's pajamas and boxers and dragging them half-way down his thighs, timidity be damned. Cas lets him, pliant but still gripping his sleeve in white knuckles. He's clearly still endeavoring to regulate his breathing so Dean continues.

Propping himself up on his elbow so he can drink in the look of his friend, Dean takes Cas in hand again. He sets a brutal pace, his grip tight and unyielding. Cas arches off the mattress, his fingers scrambling at Dean to pull him closer. A moan slips from his lips, obscene and raw, and it sends a molten frisson of lust through Dean's veins. He steals glances at Castiel's exposed, stunning body as he thrusts against his naked hip.

"Need you, Dean," Cas moans, delirious with fever and the imminence of orgasm.

"Need you too."

A weight lifts from deep inside him, and he basks in the shared confession, the freedom of requited longing. He closes his eyes, savoring, but doesn't cease the ministrations of his hand.

"Let me see your eyes," Cas rasps, tilting Dean's head by a finger on his chin.

Dean obeys, and when he looks at the ancient blue abyss of Castiel's irises, the air is stolen from his lungs. He sees an angel in every fleck, every thread of color; the power and strange wisdom of his friend that goes beyond grace.

"So green," Cas admires, breaking his reverie.

Dean's a little overwhelmed when he sees the wonder in Castiel's expression as he gazes at him, but knows it's entirely mutual. There's always been something about Cas that fascinated him, drew him in from the moment they met in hell and never let him go. In the past, the fetters that tied them together frightened him, but now, as he wrings bliss from the man in his arms, he embraces their binding.

"Breathe for me," Dean reminds him when he realizes Cas is panting.

"Dean," Cas pleads, helpless to calm himself.

"I need you to breathe before I let you finish." Dean closes his fist around the base of Castiel's penis, squeezing and thwarting the orgasm in its tracks. Cas squirms and growls.

"I don't…I don't know how to—"

"Look at me and breathe. Come on, Cas, I wanna give it to you."

Though it appears to command every shred of focus and determination he has, Castiel manages to slow the cadence of his breath and relax into the bed.

"Good," Dean praises, and starts jerking him vigorously.

" _Oh_ ," Cas moans, spreading his legs.

"You wanna know how to come?" Dean asks. He revels in the opportunity to teach Cas, to watch a being millions of years old being shown something new and glorious for the first time.

"Yes." Gripping the sides of Dean's neck, Castiel ensures that Dean's eyes won't flit out of his sight.

"You gotta' let yourself feel it, surrender to it. Let me make me you feel good, Cas."

" _Dean_ —"

With his spine curving off the mattress, Castiel orgasms for first time in his long life with Dean's name on his lips. Dean kisses approval into his cheeks and temple, murmuring as he milks Cas dry and continues to rut against his hip with his own hardness.

"Holy shit," Cas huffs on a long inhale. Dean barks a laugh, always finding it amusing when Cas swears.

Though he doesn't exactly remember the first time he came, he certainly remembers the last and he's desperate to share in the release.  Using a hand wet with Castiel's seed, Dean reaches into his own boxers and fists his cock with a merciless hold.

"Cas, can I—"

"Yes. Please, Dean." Cas keeps holding his face, kissing him delicately on the mouth before lounging back to watch him.

"You, uh, don't mind?" Dean asks between hitching breaths.

"Quite the contrary." Cas's eyes, looking bleary and sated, rake over Dean's body, drinking him in, before settling on the spot where his dick is peeking out from elastic of his sweatpants.

"Let me see you," he says, reaching down to push Dean's clothing aside. Dean lets him, the feeling of Castiel's fingers on his hips and stomach leaving tingling trails in their wake.

Though Dean never considered himself much of a voyeur, the way Cas is staring at him is ratcheting up his pleasure, making his blood rush. Every sensation has an edge to it, and the raw amazement in Cas's eyes makes him feel sexy in a way he never has before. Cas wasn't wrong when he said Dean had been with many people. He thought he'd experienced everything, felt all there was to feel. Apparently he was wrong.

"Gonna' come," Dean warns, trying to hide his face in the crook of Castiel's neck.

"No," Cas snaps, "I need to see your face." The hint of command to Cas's tone annihilates any question of Dean's acquiescence, and his eyes lock with the ex-angel's.

When he comes the edges of his vision blur and his mouth falls open on a silent scream. Cas watches him through it, eyes fascinated and penetrating. It makes Dean feel exposed in the best possible way.

After Dean settles, he reaches for some tissues to clean them off. Cas whines when Dean wipes off the head of his penis, clearly oversensitive, and Dean's dick twitches in his response even though he's spent.

"How are you feeling?" Dean asks proudly after the tissues have been disposed.

"Incredible," Cas slurs with a scratchy voice.

"I mean your lungs." Dean turns his head to smile at his friend from where he's sprawled.

"You made me forget I was sick."

It's one hell of a compliment, as far as Dean's concerned. It makes him feel good about himself, and in Dean Winchester's world that's a rare occurrence indeed.

"Wait 'til you see what I do to ya' when you're better." He shoots Cas a wink and kisses his cheek.

"Likewise."

Cas winks back and, though he's a little awkward at it, Dean's heart flutters all the same.

 

* * *

 

 

A month later finds Dean in a position he never would have imagined: straddling Castiel's hips in a bathtub with a dick thrusting in and out of his ass.

"I can't believe I'm actually doing this," Dean says through clenched teeth. Cas's strong hands are a sturdy pressure on his hips, guiding his rhythm.

"Me either."

Though Cas is still weak and pale from his illness, he's moved past the coughing fits and high fevers. As Dean gazes down at him, he's happy to see the unhealthy glaze gone from his eyes.

The few inches of water in the tub slosh as Dean swirls his hips in a way that he always loved when their positions were reversed and he had a girl on his lap. From the way Cas's eyes roll back in his head he can tell they have similar tastes.

"You feel….dangerously good," Cas moans, his head falling back against the rim of the tub. His hair is damp and chaotic, and Dean can't resist weaving his fingers through it, tugging.

"Same to you, baby."

Dean had assumed he'd hate being on the receiving end of penetrative sex. They hadn't even planned to try it when they first decided to fool around in the tub, but after Cas had been fingering him, slow and skillful, for some indiscernible length of time, Dean brashly decided to mount him. He's regretting that decision now, because knowing what this feels like, with Cas's lubed, thick cock rubbing him in all the right spots, he can't imagine not doing this again.

"Need you to touch me," he gasps, planting his hands on Cas's shoulders so he can set a brutal pace with his hips. Instantly, Cas takes Dean in a tight grip, jerking him in time with his thrusts. He feels surrounded by Cas, taken from the inside and held on the outside. Before he has time to breathe his orgasm hits him like a punch to the gut, and he yells in burning, relentless pleasure, incapable of stifling the sound.

"Holy fuck, Cas, that was—"

"Dean!" he hears Sam call distantly.

"Oh shit,  _shit_ ," Dean hisses, panicking. He can hear his enormous brother barreling down the halls, calling his name and drawing ever closer. He probably heard Dean scream and thinks he fell or is getting attacked by a yeti or something. Stupid overprotective brothers with their stupid history of supernatural attacks.

He tries to get his footing but his knees keep slipping on the slick bottom of the tub, making him involuntarily thrust on Cas's still-hard dick.

"Dean, if you don't stop moving I'm—" Cas warns.

Dean slips, yet again, and sends his hips crashing hard onto Cas's pelvis. Arching, Cas yelps and comes, clutching Dean. His jaw falls open and his dilated eyes blow wide, watching Dean through his release.

"Jeez, Cas, you look so fucking pretty when you do that," Dean murmurs, momentarily distracted, stunned.  He leans down to kiss him...

"Dean! Dean are you alright?" Sam bellows, kicking open the bathroom door and rushing inside like a knight on a quest. "I heard a scream—"

"Fucking fuck, do I fucking look alright, Sam!? Get out, you big idiot!" Dean screams, flailing and tumbling back off of Cas's dick with his feet flying up into the air.

"Oh my  _god_ , not  _again_ ," Sam cries, turning on his heels and running straight into the doorframe. "Son of a bitch!" he spits as he crumples to the tiles, clutching his face.

"How many times do I have to tell you to fucking knock?" Dean bleats from where he's tangled on his back in the tub, utterly naked and mortified.  He can't seem to get his feet under him.

"I hate everything," Sam groans, hands covering his eyes as he crawls out of the room like an inchworm.

" _You_  do? How the fuck do you think I feel?" Dean snarls at him as he disappears around the corner.

"Well, I feel great," Cas announces, lounging in the tub with his hands woven behind his head. He has the cockiest, most-sated smirk on his face that Dean has ever seen.

"You're fucking welcome," Dean says, finally heaving himself out of the tub and padding across the room to shut the door. "Glad I could help."

"Me too."

Dean sighs so hard he breaks into a violent, hacking coughing fit.

"Oh, hell no…"

* * *

[Click to reblog art on tumblr](http://rageofthenerd.tumblr.com/post/119483608310/i-made-some-more-fanart-for-a-need-for-breathing)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END! (sort of) 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this little sickfic. I sure had a blast writing it.
> 
> Up next for me will be [Happy to Bleed](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2475488/chapters/5491178), a destiel demon!dean fic set early in s10. For updates on my progress or just to say 'hi' you can find me most easily on [my tumblr](http://rageofthenerd.tumblr.com/). I'd love to hear from you. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all your support! I love you like Dean loves buttsex and pie.
> 
> EDIT: I kinda sorta accidentally wrote a bit more...


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo when I said the last chapter was the last chapter I was basically a lying piece of shit. Somehow I ended up writing an Epilogue without my permission, and when I say "epilogue" what I mean is "excuse to write gratuitous smut for my own personal satisfaction." *cough* rim job *cough*
> 
> Hope you enjoy. For the record, if you're confused, this takes place a few weeks after the end of chapter 5. 
> 
> I love you like Cas loves guinea pigs.

"Cas, I really don't need you to do that," Dean grumbles.

"Incorrect."

"Super correct."

"I promise you it will feel pleasant."

"Yeah, but—"

"And if you're concerned, I assure you that I am not embarrassed to do this."

"Well, good for you, but  _I am_."

"Oh." Casitiel's eyes narrow, his hand pausing in its mission to smear as much Vick's Vaporub on Dean's chest as physically possible. "Does that mean you think I should have been embarrassed when you did this very same thing for me not one month ago?"

Dean sighs, his chest wheezing with mucus. He runs a hand through his hair, still damp from the bath Cas just gave him.

"No," he replies, pouting. The word sounds pathetic with his congested nose.

"Then I'm sure you can handle it."

Sagging back into his pillows with a scowl, Dean doesn't look at Cas while he continues his excessive application of menthol cream. However, with his eyes not on his angel's pretty face, Dean has nothing to focus on but the slow, calming slide of Cas's palm on his solar plexus. It soothes him on a level he hasn't felt since he was four years old and his mom was still around to take care of him. A contented sound escapes his throat without his permission.

"I told you it would feel nice," Castiel murmurs. When Dean glances at him he finds his eyes soft.

"Makes me feel like a baby."

"I remember enjoying it when you did it to me."

"Are you sure you aren't confusing this with a blow job? Because I remember you enjoying that when I did it to you too."

"Is that your underhanded method for requesting fellatio?" Castiel asks, serious as a funeral. Dean rolls his eyes so hard he gives himself a head-rush.

"Damnit, Cas, I told you not to call it that. Say 'blow jobs,' 'giving head,' 'sucking my brain out through my dick'…anything but 'fellatio.' That word sounds like the name of an Italian restaurant or something."

"I thought you liked Italian food."

"Well I like classic rock too but that doesn't mean I wanna' think about Van Halen's ugly ass while my dick is in your mouth."

Castiel's brow furrows, the corner of his lips twitching down.

"Oh, Christ, please tell me you know who Eddie Van Halen is," Dean says, scandalized.

"You know perfectly well that my knowledge of pop culture is limited."

"Classic rock isn't pop culture! It's….it's just required fundamental shit that every—" Dean's words break off as a vicious cough claws its way out of his lungs. He hacks and heaves, tears pearling in the corners of his eyes, as Castiel massages his chest through the pain. Every cough feels like it's cutting him up inside. He's beginning to have new appreciation for what Cas went through with his pneumonia.

"You need to relax," Cas says once he's settled. "You've barely slept at all."

"I don't need to do anything," Dean rasps, swallowing hard around his burning, swollen throat. "It's just a cold and I've been on the road with way worse than this. You think I ever took time to 'relax' when Sam and I were on hunts? I didn't even do it when I was a kid. It's my job to play hurt."

Castiel finally removes his hand from Dean's chest, before throughly cleaning his fingers. With great effort, Dean manages not to ask for Cas to go back to touching him, since it really wouldn't help his argument for not needing to be cared for.

"Did you make Sam relax if he got sick when you were children?"

"Of course I did."

"Yet you took no time to care for yourself."

"Sam is different." Dean side-eyes his angel, sensing a trap.

"And you insisted that  _I_  needed to relax when I was sick. In fact, I seem to recall you being very angry at for me for my 'stupid ass' getting a cold and 'letting it turn into pneumonia.' "

"Yeah, and your stupid ass could barely walk."

"Neither can yours."

"Because you won't let me! The last time I tried to get up you  _sat_   _on me_." Dean had wanted to shut the door post-bath so Sam's gargantuan ass didn't come barging in on them again, but apparently Cas thought he was incapable of such a feat.

"Dean, you are a human being, just like me and Sam, and like me and Sam, you need to rest when you're this ill," Cas says, authority hammered into every word.

"But-"

"Do you want to catch pneumonia like I did?"

"No, but—"

"You're done talking now."

And to demonstrate just how cut-off from speaking Dean is, Castiel seals their mouths together in a firm kiss. Dean's eyebrows shoot up his forehead, his eyes closing and fingers tangling in Cas's Darth Vader shirt on instinct. His simmering fever makes Castiel's lips feel as though he just came in from the snow, and a shiver curls through him. Opening his mouth, he tries to deepen their kiss, but Cas seems to have a different agenda.

With a final nip to Dean's lower lip, he pulls away, grabbing the thermometer from Dean's nightstand and slipping it into his mouth. Dean's so dazed from their kiss that he doesn't notice it for a moment.

"Hey—"

"I said no talking," Castiel snaps.

He lowers himself to kiss Dean's breastbone through his shirt.

"But—"

"Be quiet."

In calculated, taunting movements, Cas mouths his way down Dean's torso, leaving a little trail of spittle on the cotton. Breath hitching, Dean stares at him with rapt attention, soon forgetting the thermometer wedged under his tongue.

When Cas reaches the exposed sliver of Dean's stomach, he takes hold of Dean's boxers along with the covers at his waist and drags them down his thighs. Dean watches his flaccid dick twitch, can feel the blood rush from his head to his groin.

Without warning Cas presses his face to the crease between Dean's pelvis and thigh. He takes a deep, indulgent inhale. Dean feels himself blush at the attention.

"I love the way you smell down here," Cas's deep voice rumbles. His words are like a charge of static to Dean's nervous system, igniting every pore with warmth and heightened sensation.

Dean swallows down a whimper when Castiel cants his head and licks a broad stripe up the side of his dick with the flat of his tongue. Fingers curling into the sheets at his sides, Dean's eyelids flutter and the edges of his vision blur.

Cas must be encouraged by his reaction, because he begins lapping at him in wet, thorough strokes. His gaze never parts with Dean's face, making him feel utterly exposed. It's too intimate for him to handle, but when he tries to look away, Cas stops him with a finger to his chin.

"I want your eyes on me," he says, breath cooling the spit slicking Dean's shaft and sending a tremor through his abdomen. Dean should have known better than to look away, since Castiel has some weird obsession with eye-contact during sex. With anyone else Dean would have been dismissive, shying away from that level of intimacy. But Cas is different, so when he resumes pleasuring him, Dean is sure to watch.

The relentless licking is just this side of not enough, making him swell and tingle, but keeping him frustrated, unsatisfied. It takes all of Dean's resolve not to beg for more, but Castiel gave him an order not to speak, and while the hunter would never admit it, he revels in following his lover's command to the letter. The satisfaction of a job well done soothes Dean on his most primal level, and the way Castiel's eyes spark when Dean is obedient is usually enough to make him come on the spot.

When Cas finally takes Dean's length deep into his mouth, he arches off the bed, biting down on the thermometer. He clutches Cas's soft hair, not to guide his motions but for a point of contact to ground himself in. Castiel only sucks harder, his palm joining his mouth to grip Dean's arousal at the base.

For an angel who's been human for a couple months, Castiel is a remarkably quick learner when it comes to the finer points of gay sex. Granted, Dean wasn't exactly an expert in cock-sucking either when they started this ridiculous relationship, but he was damn proficient at  _getting_  his cock sucked, so he took to it pretty quickly as well. In general Dean is a natural at any and all things relating to fucking, and blow-jobs are no exception.

The thing about Cas and sex, though, is that he approaches the subject like he'll be tested on it. Every single detail is important to him, from the way Dean's back bows when Cas takes him to the root, to the way a nip to the pulse point below his ear makes him whimper. Castiel catalogues it all.

Just as Dean begins contemplating the Cas's ability to swallow around the head of his dick like it's nothing, he's divested of all cognitive ability when Castiel suddenly rips his boxers off his ankles, grabs him by the back of the knees, and pushes his legs up to his chest, bearing him raw.

"Cas, what the—" Dean cracks.

"I said to be quiet." The words are carried on a growl, his eyes flashing with disapproval. Dean swears he can almost see a spark of grace behind his blue irises.

"S-sorry."

"If you can't follow simple instruction then I'll be forced to take the ability to speak away from you."

Though Dean shudders at the warning, he can't say Castiel's words don't make him downright giddy. If Castiel's looking to frighten him into submission he's going to need a tactic that doesn't involve orgasms.

Before Cas can make good on his threat, however, the thermometer finally beeps.

Dean blinks, bewildered and still bent in half, before crossing his eyes to examine the reading.

"Take it out of your mouth and show me what it says," Cas commands.

With a shaky hand, Dean pulls the thermometer from his lips and turns it over. He holds it in front of Cas's face.

"102.6," he reads, a frown pulling at his brow. "That's too high for my liking."

For a moment Dean almost laughs, finding the sight of Cas looking wrathful and protective with his head two inches from Dean's bobbing dick beyond absurd. And maybe a little adorable.

"I'm fine," Dean mumbles as quietly as he can.

"I'll be the judge of that."

Before Dean has time to process the conniving glint in Castiel's eyes, the ex-angel of fucking mercy leans down and presses his mouth right to cleft of Dean's ass.

"Sweet fucking  _holy mother of_ —" Dean squeaks, forgetting about Castiel's no-speaking rule and just about everything else but the feeling of a tongue where it has no right to be. He writhes, trying to simultaneously pull away from Castiel's obscene touch and draw him closer.

Sure, Dean's gotten pretty wild with girls on the road before, but none of them offered to rim him. It wasn't something you did with a stranger, at least not in his experience. And while he'd felt relatively comfortable with Lisa, who could get rather creative in the bedroom, they'd never gotten that dirty.

So the fact that his recently-virginal,  _male_  angel boyfriend has decided to dive right into  _eating him out_  is enough for Dean's brain to short circuit. It takes a lot to shock Dean Winchester in the sack, and here Cas is, weeks away from popping his cherry, flustering him into oblivion.

"C-Cas, you—" Dean coughs once and swallows hard. His throat hurts. He can't seem to get enough spit to speak.

Castiel is unrelenting, either oblivious to Dean's complete inundation of sensation or happy to evoke it. The tip of his wet tongue torments him, circling and pushing in increments. Dean's legs tremble where they're held tight to his chest by Castiel's firm hands.

With a slow swipe, Cas licks up to Dean's balls. He kneads one in his mouth, soaking Dean with saliva and making a bead of pre-cum pulse from his tip.

Somehow, Cas pushes his legs even higher so that his rear lifts off the mattress. With an open mouth he rims him again, rougher this time, his tongue more insistent. Dean pants and sweats, can feel so much blood rushing to his dick that it's making him dizzy. Cas continues like he has nowhere else in the world to be, like he's still on angel time and could keep laving at him for a century without noticing.

The more he licks, the more sensitive Dean seems to get, Cas's brutal ministrations awakening nerve endings he didn't know he had. He's starting to feel the touch everywhere: at the root of his dick, deep in his belly, even in his fucking fingertips.

" _Please_ ," Dean groans, the word broken and crackling from his parched throat. "Cas—s'too much…"

Castiel relents, dropping one of Dean's legs and letting it fall to the side. As his dark gaze burrows into Dean's, he dips the forefinger of his free hand into his mouth, wetting it. Dean can't stand the sight; it's one of the most erotic things he's ever witnessed. More than anything a stripper or Lisa or some one-night-stand ever did. He thinks distantly that the one thing better is the way Cas looks when he comes, the way his jaw falls slack, the way his pupils dilate. Dean could jerk off to Cas's O-face alone for the rest of his life and never be bored.

Dean's startled back to himself when Cas's finger enters him in an easy slide.

The feeling completely overwhelms him, is far more than he can surrender, so he covers his hot face with his hands. If he keeps seeing the way Castiel is looking at him while he's touching him so intimately, he might implode. Or pass out. Or, worse than anything, burst into tears.

"Dean."

Dean shakes his head fervently, keeps his palms clamped over his eyes. Part of him knows that his fever is fucking with him, making everything seem grander, more devastating. He must look ridiculous. Still, he can't seem to calm down. It's as though his brain is overheated, and he can't breathe right around the gunk clogging his nose and chest.

"Dean," Castiel repeats. His voice is mild, unaffected, as his finger rubs Dean's prostate in gentle circles. Dean's breath is coming in rapid pants, his chest rattling with mucus. His lips feel prickly. Spots of oily color float in the black of his closed eyes.

"Look at me, baby," Castiel asks, tone delicate with affection. Cas has  _never_  called Dean "baby" before. The strangeness of it jars him into dropping his hands to his chest and meeting his lover's eyes.

"I'm not going to stop touching you, but I want you to reach over, take your water from the table, and drink for me." Castiel's words carry an undercurrent of inherent control, somehow calming Dean into doing as he's told. Before he knows it the water is streaming down the back of his throat, soothing and cool. His gulps are greedy, and Castiel doesn't stop moving his finger.

When he puts the glass back on the nightstand it's almost empty.

"Better?" Cas asks, adding a second finger inside him with care.

Dean nods, blinking. He's ashamed and shocked to feel a tear tumble from the corner of his eye. He reaches up to rub it away, but Cas drops his other leg and snatches his wrist before he can manage it.

"None of that," he says. Releasing Dean's arm, he wipes the moisture from his cheek with the back of his knuckles. "You're perfect."

"I'm—"

"You're perfect," he repeats, sharper. Dean swallows, his lips part, and he offers a short nod. Cas has a way of saying crazy things like they're absolute fact, as though nothing Dean can say will change his mind. Sometimes he manages to show such conviction that Dean starts to believe him.

"Would you like to come now?" Cas asks, casual as you please. Dean snorts, beyond happy to break the ridiculous tension and weight behind the moment. He has no idea how things got so intense. Granted, with Cas things were always intense, but Dean's never been such a pansy as to fucking  _cry_  during sex. If Cas let him, he'd be absolutely mortified.

"I thought I wasn't allowed to talk…" Dean says.

"Good point."

Without much warning, Cas shifts back down on the bed and buries Dean's dick in his throat in one swift motion. Dean arches and yelps, white spots bursting across his vision. As Cas bobs his head he thrusts his fingers in and out of Dean's body, and the combination of being penetrated and swallowed down sends Dean hurtling towards his orgasm.

He's gasping, whining on every breath, but Cas just works him harder. Angel-hood must have given Cas incredible control over his gag reflex, if the way he's swallowing Dean down is any indication. Every time his crown hits the back of Cas's throat, a shot of pleasure cascades in his pelvis, and he can't help but thrust shallowly into the tight heat.

"Gonna'…mm'gonna'—" Dean tries to warn Cas, but finds himself shouting and spilling himself deep before he can get the words out. The rush of warmth from his seed, the explosion of tingles bursting from his abdomen…it's so powerful that his vision blacks out, and he loses himself in shattering pleasure for an indiscernible length of time. It's unlike any orgasm he's ever had, and he might be frightened by its intensity if he wasn't so wholly lost in a hot fog of bliss.

When he comes back to his right mind, Cas is sitting next to him, dabbing a damp washcloth to his face, and the covers are back around his waist.

"C-Cas? What the fuck," he slurs. He blinks heavy eyelids.

"I've never seen you orgasm like that before," he says casually, like he didn't just break Dean's brain with his damn mouth.

"Yeah no shit, genius." Dean flicks him on the cheek. Cas ignores him.

"I believe the fever is affecting you."

"Oh yeah, must be the fever. Couldn't have anything to do with how you just gave me the best blow job of my whole fucking life."

Dean watches as a smile spreads across Cas's lips, crinkling his eyes at the corners.

"Always so damn proud of yourself," Dean grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. "Tell me, you friggin' porn star, how the hell am I supposed to top that?"

"You already have."

"Yeah, right."

"I mean it."

"When?"

"The first time you touched me. And I can say from experience, a fever does have the potential to…enhance things."

Dean frowns.

"It…am I really that good?" he asks, tentative.

"Oh yes. Well, that, and I'd been waiting for a millennia to be touched that way, so the anticipation was significant. And the fact that I longed for you specifically added another layer."

Dean takes a deep breath, coughing a bit when his cold makes its presence known.

"Yeah but…you didn't, like, black-out or anything like I just did."

A victorious light flashes behind Castiel's eyes that Dean doesn't like in the slightest.

"I'll tell you why you blacked out…"

"Uh…why…?"

"Because you, Dean, are a human being who has completely over-exerted himself in an attempt to demonstrate some sort of arbitrary masculine standard engrained into you at a young age. You are sick and you are exhausted and you need to rest, have I made myself clear?"

Dean glares at Cas like he just shit in his pie and laughed about it.

"Crystal," he grits, before turning over and showing Cas his back. He curls up, and tries not to admit to himself that a long nap and a bit of coddling sounds like just about the best thing in the entire world.

"Here's a tissue," Cas says, thrusting one in front of his face. "You're sniffling."

"And I'm allowed to!" Dean barks back, ripping the tissue from Castiel's hand and sitting up to give his nose a good blow. Cas takes the tissue from him once he's done, tossing it in the waste basket by the bed. Dean lies back down, turning away from his friend spitefully once again.

"I mean it, Dean. I'll be upset if you don't let me take care of you."

Dean sighs, hating the twinge of guilt in his chest.

"You said it yourself, man. I…I was trained to run on empty."

Dean closes his eyes when he feels Castiel's fingers caress the short hairs on the back of his head.

"An unfortunate fact that makes me very angry," Cas growls, almost to himself. "There are words I should like to share with your father, should I ever encounter him."

"I never really minded, though. Not trying to defend him, just… I  _like_  taking care of people I care about. It's simple. Makes me feel useful.  No one was ever really around to take care of me so...I'm not used to it, I guess."

"I know." Cas rakes his fingers across Dean's scalp, his touch relaxing every muscle in Dean's body.

"But…I suppose I could, you know…let you take care of me. If you wanted...when I absolutely need it, I mean."

Cas's hand pauses and Dean opens his eyes, waiting in silence for his reaction. He wishes he could see his face, but not enough to turn back over.

When he feels the soft brush of Cas's lips on his temple, he knows he said the right thing.

"What do you want for dinner tonight?" Cas asks. Yet again, Dean is grateful for the subject change.

"For some reason I'm craving Italian," Dean says, looking over his shoulder and shooting Cas a wink.

"Very well."

They're both startled when a very loud, purposeful knock beats at the door.

"Come in, Sammy!" Dean shouts, flopping onto his back.

Sam knocks again. It sounds like he's punching the door.

"I said 'come in!'"

The response is a smattering of short, ridiculous knocks, as though Sam is trying to set the beat for a mariachi band.

"God damnit, Sammy, get your ass in here!"

Finally, Sam edges open the door with a ridiculous leer on his face.

"Was that good enough knocking for you? You told me to always knock, and I learned my lesson. Oh, have I learned it." He saunters into the room, clearly proud of himself.

"You're a dumbass."

"Dean wants Italian tonight," Cas announces like he missed their whole exchange. Sam places an amiable hand on his shoulder when Cas rises to stand beside him.

"Does he? Well, the princess gets whatever she wants," Sam taunts. Dean wants to draw a penis on his face with a sharpie while he's sleeping. In fact, he fucking plans on it when he feels better.

"Yes. He was reminded of it because of the fellatio I performed on him a few minutes ago."

Dean takes great satisfaction in the way all the color drains from Sam's face and he chokes on his own spit.

"That's…great, Cas. Just great. Thank you for sharing."

"You're welcome."

"I'm just gonna' go call for take-out and punch myself in the face until I forget what you just said," Sam says, stiff with tension as he walks back to the door. "Glad you're feeling better, Dean."

"Good. Take Cas with you so I can nap."

Cas shoots Dean a knowing look that makes his chest flutter and his face heat. His angel moves to follow Sam out.

"Oh, and hey Cas?" Dean calls, causing both men to turn and look at him.

"Yes, Dean?"

"Brush your teeth. Your breath smells like ass," he says, winking suggestively. Sam looks like he wants to melt into a puddle and die.

"I hate you both," he states.

"No you don't."

When Sam and Cas leave the room, shutting the door behind them, Dean curls up under the blankets.

"For the record, my breath smells fine," he hears Cas's muffled voice say from out in the hall.

"Okay," Sam replies.

"If anything, it smells like semen."

"I swear to God, Cas…"

With a smile on his face, Dean closes his eyes. Despite his cold and the high fever pulsing behind his eyes, Dean does as his Cas asked.

Wholly relaxed, he finally slips into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay now I PROMISE that's the end of ANfB. Cross my heart. It's done. But...well, again, I'm a lying piece o' shit so who knows. No but really, it's done. No lying this time. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and to all those who commented. Feel free to stop by [my tumblr](http://rageofthenerd.tumblr.com/) as always to say hi.


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